Reckoning (22 page)

My mom raises her eyebrows. “And just how do you propose to pay for this car?”

“I’ve already saved almost all that I need. If you and Dad can front me the rest, I can pay you back over the summer.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet! Like I said, I’ll get a job. Maybe I could help Mr. Camenson at the antiques store. Or I’ll get a job at one of the stores in the mall, or maybe at the movie theatre. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out.”

“You sound as if you already know what you want to buy.”

“I do.” Biting my lower lip, I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “There’s a used Jeep Wrangler for sale down the street. I think it needs a little work, but I know somebody at school who loves to work on old cars. And he might be willing to help me fix it up. And, like I said, I’ve already got most of the money saved.”

My mom narrows her eyes, her lip curling up in disgust. “Are you talking about that old beat up piece of junk that’s been for sale for months?”

“Yeah! It’d be great!”

My mom shakes her head vehemently. “No way. Why do you think it’s been for sale for so long? And why it’s so cheap? Even if it runs, you’d have to put more money into it that it’s worth. You need something more reliable than that.”

“But, Mom, please! At least let’s take a look at it. Maybe this weekend Dad can check it out…”

“There’s no way he’d let you buy that! Even if he did agree to let you have a car.”

“Fine. Then can we look at something else?”

“I’ll talk to Dad and see what he says. But I can almost guarantee you he’s not going to go for it.”

“Great. Then I’ll just sit around and continue depending on everybody else for a ride.” I slump down in the chair, crossing my arms on my chest.

“You can still get a job. Which you’ll need to pay for a car anyway.”

“Whatever.” I know I’m angrier than I should be, but I’m too frustrated to care. And it upsets me that I’m arguing with my mom. That almost never happens. But I can’t understand why she is being so unreasonable.

My mom stands and plants a kiss on my head. “I’ve got to go to work. We’ll talk about it later.”

I nod without replying and, pushing aside my plate, reach for the newspaper. Grabbing the entertainment section, I comfort myself with the thought of seeing Rick this weekend. Maybe I’ll call him later and we can talk about what movie we want to see. I hear the front door close and the sound of my mom’s car engine fading away.

Paging through the paper, my eyes land on a black and white advertisement for the annual renaissance festival. Looking at the picture of the jovial, smiling king inviting young and old to join in the revelry, I have a sudden flashback to my last visit. I haven’t thought about it in years. It had been another of those incomprehensible incidents that I chose to ignore, pushed away and locked in the vault of my memory. But suddenly it’s as clear and fresh as if it happened moments ago.

I’m ten years old, seeing and hearing spirits on a near-daily basis, battling the increasing frequency of my nightmares and trying to pretend that everything is normal. More than anything, I want a break. And when my mom and dad and I head out in the car on a hot Saturday in July to make the forty-five minute drive to a deeply wooded area south of town, I couldn’t be happier or more relieved.

The festival is a surreal mix of old-world charm and modern fairgrounds; an odd combination of opposing sights and sounds and smells: dirt and roasted turkey legs; fried ice cream and horse dung; trumpets and lutes; gentle singing and raucous laughter; feathered hats, swords and cell phones. Wooden vendors booths, selling everything from soft pretzels to handmade knives, line the hillsides. Jousters clad in gleaming silver armor, the horses beneath them draped in brightly colored silks ride in the direction of the arena. Fenced enclosures contain elephants and camels, wooden dragons and screaming children. It’s hot, dusty and crowded. Three hundred acres of distraction. Exactly what I need.

We join the queue for steak-on-a-stick and funnel cake, and as I impatiently wait for the line to move forward, I spot a booth with a brightly painted wooden sign advertising
Madame Carolyn – Psychic
in fancy script. Squinting against the glare of the sun, I strain to read the rest:
Fortune Teller, Future Forecaste, Tarot Readings, Stone Casting
. The words
psychic
and
fortuneteller
blaze with intensity in the afternoon heat. Doesn’t that mean they can tell the future? Tell you things no one else knows? An idea begins forming in my head. An idea that never occurred to me before. Maybe there is someone who can help me, who will believe me. Maybe Madame Carolyn, whoever she is, can give me the answers I need.

I know that I have to talk to her. But I also know that if I ask my mom and dad if I can have a reading there’ll be no way they’ll agree to it. They’ll laugh it off as foolishness. This is something I have to do on my own. But how can I get away? I look around, scanning the area, searching for something that will provide me with an excuse. There is a man drawing caricatures several feet to the right, but it’s too close. Beyond him is a woman doing face painting. Still too close. I look up the hill. The psychic’s booth is sandwiched between displays of sandstone wall plaques and handmade jewelry. Perfect.

Tensing with nervousness, I sigh and shuffle my feet. Pulling at my mom’s sleeve, I say, “This is boring. Can I go look at the jewelry?”

“Where?”

“Just up there.” I point up the hill. Several yards away, it is close enough for her to keep an eye on me, but far enough where she won’t notice if I’m in the next booth. I hope.

She looks at it doubtfully for a moment, before turning to my dad. “What do you think, honey? Do you think it’s OK for Kat to look at the jewelry up there while we wait in line?”

“Sure,” he says. “That’s fine. Just don’t go anywhere else, OK? Stay where we can see you.”

I nod, vigorously agreeing, and take off up the hill, my stomach churning with anxiety. What if I get caught? What if the psychic tells me something terrible? What if she can’t help me at all?

Reaching the psychic’s booth, I glance inside. There is someone sitting in the chair opposite her, but no one else is waiting. I look back down at my mom and dad. They move forward, inching towards the head of the line. Their heads turn in unison in my direction, and I step into the jewelry booth and wave. They wave back and smile.

Moving to the outer perimeter of the displays, I keep a close watch between the psychic and my parents. She is still talking to her customer, who shows no indication of leaving any time soon.
Hurry, please hurry
, I think, watching my parents continually move forward.

Finally, the customer stands and leaves the booth. I look down the hill. My mom and dad step up to the counter. I look back at Madame Carolyn, arranging objects on the table in front of her. Suddenly, I lose my courage. I can’t do it. I can’t talk to her. She’ll just think I’m crazy, too.

But if I don’t, I might never know.

I look down the hill. My dad reaches for his wallet. I look again at Madam Carolyn. She stands and heads to the back of the booth. And without further thought, I dart forward, stepping past the small fountain whose gently trickling water ensures a private conversation, and stand in front of the table.

With her back turned to me, Madame Carolyn removes the shawl from her shoulders and reties the scarf around her head. I take a deep breath. “Excuse me?” My voice is barely above a whisper. “Can you help me, please?”

She turns in surprise. She is wearing a long dark green dress, laced up the front, the sleeves ending in a point over her hands. She is younger than I thought, with a round face, long, curly blonde hair and blue eyes. She smiles, dimples creating deep indentations in her cheeks.

“Good day, my lady,” she says, in a fake British accent. “How may I be of assistance?”

Everyone who works here talks that way, as though they are addressing medieval nobility. It’s kind of weird, but right now, I don’t care.

“I was wondering if you could…” I stop. If she can what? Tell me why I see ghosts? Why others don’t? Why dead people speak to me?

She smiles, waiting patiently. “Yes, my lady?”

“I was wondering,” I begin again, “if you could tell me my future” That’s not what I want, but I don’t know where else to start.

“It would be my pleasure,” she says, gesturing for me to take a seat. “A reading is twenty dollars. That includes the cards, casting the stones and reading your palm. I’m sure we’ll learn many exciting things.”

My heart sinks. I only have four dollars and some change left from the spending money my mom gave me earlier. “I don’t have that much.” I’m overwhelmed with disappointment and my eyes fill with tears. This was a terrible, foolish idea.

She tilts her head to the side, then steps forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. “That’s alright,” she says. Her accent disappears. “There’s no one else waiting, so let’s just take a look at your palm, and see what it tells us. How does that sound?”

I nod mutely, too filled with gratitude and relief to speak, and take a seat.

She takes my hand between hers, bending her head to look closely at my palm. “You’re very organized…and very creative. And someday, I think there will be a great love in your life.” She looks up and smiles, before turning back to my hand. “You’re also very healthy.” Her brows draw together, and she tilts my hand to the side. “You might have a difficult time in a few years, but ultimately, you’ll be successful.” She places both of her hands around mine. “Does that help?”

I nod, grateful for her kindness, but needing to know more. What she has told me is wonderful. I have a bright, successful future ahead of me. But it doesn’t answer any of the questions that hang like a black cloud over my life. Somehow I have to find the courage to ask. I glance behind me. I can’t see the food line from this angle, but I know that my time is running short. Turning back, I open my mouth to speak when the smile leaves her face and she looks at me thoughtfully.

“You see things, don’t you?” she asks. “Things others don’t. But when you try and talk about it, no one believes you.”

I look at her in shock. How does she know? “Yes,” I whisper.

She reaches for my hands. “It’s OK. Never doubt yourself. What you see is there, and it’s real. It’s just that not everyone has the same gift, or ability, to see what lies beyond our world like you do. What is your name?”

“Kat. Katriona”

“That’s a lovely name.” Suddenly her eyes shift their focus, and she looks beyond me, past my shoulder, to something only she can see. “They’re all around you, Kat. Always with you. But don’t be afraid.” Her hands tighten around mine. “You will face a very great struggle, but…”

“But what?” My heart is pounding, and I don’t know whether to be excited or afraid.

“There is one who will be with you, and one who will go. Do not lose faith.”

What does that mean? I scan her face, looking for a clue, waiting for something more. But there is nothing. She has stopped speaking.

Abruptly, her eyes open and she looks at me with a mixture of curiosity and puzzlement. “I’ve never encountered anyone quite like you, Kat. I’m very glad to have met you.”

I hear my father’s voice, the sound of his laughter carrying up the hill. I stand. I have to go. Regardless of the questions left unasked and unanswered, and the many new ones she has left me with, I am out of time.

“Thank you,” I say, and reach into my pocket for the rest of my money.

“No. Keep it. I just hope I helped you today.”

“Thank you. You did.” I’m not sure if she has or not, but I’m grateful just the same.

I dash to the entrance and peek around the corner. My mom and dad are halfway up the hill, their hands filled with roasted meat and cold drinks. I see my mom moving her head, looking for me in the jewelry booth.

“Go, now. They won’t see you.”

I turn to look at Madame Carolyn. She smiles and nods, completely sure of her words. Looking back to my parents, I watch a court jester step in front of them, the massively oversized dummy on his shoulder pretending to poke at their food. They laugh, their attention momentarily diverted. I look back at Madame Carolyn in surprise. Maybe she really is psychic. I step back into the jewelry booth, pretending to be engrossed in a display of earrings. Seconds later, my mom moves into the space next to me, offering me a cup of lemonade.

I can’t believe I got away with it
, I think now, leaning back in the chair. And I can’t believe that I haven’t thought about it in years. Did Madame Carolyn really ‘see’ those things about my future? What challenge, or struggle, will I face? Does it have something to do with the strange visions I’ve had lately? Or is it something she made up? And who is the one who will be with me and the one who will go? None of it makes any sense. It didn’t then, and it doesn’t now.

A great love
, she’d also said. Lovell had said the same thing after looking at my hands. Is it Rick? Someone else? I have no way of knowing.

But there is one thing that has given me comfort. Something I have fiercely clung to ever since. She’d told me what I saw was real. As if she knew exactly what I was going through. And for that reason alone, I believe she was psychic. As for her predictions, I can only wait and see.

I look back at the advertisement, wondering if Madame Carolyn is still there. I wish I could visit with her again, ask more intelligent questions. Maybe she’ll remember me. Maybe she can tell me something new.

“Why not?” I say, my voice echoing through the quiet room.

Grabbing my phone, I dial Rachel’s number. I stroll through the living room, gazing out the large front window. It rings four times before going to voice mail.

“Hi! You’ve reached Rachel. Leave a message.”

I wait for the beep. “Hey, Rach. It’s me. Just wondering if you want to go down to the Renaissance Festival this weekend. Could be fun. Call me back.”

Ending the call, I look across the lawn to Mr. Davich’s house, watching with surprise as Lovell exits through the front door. I step away from the window as he makes his way down the sidewalk. He glances up, but with the reflection of the morning sun on the glass, I’m sure he can’t see me. He dashes up his front steps and disappears inside.