“I am Madame Bozek.”
“Neat. I’m Arthur. Pleased to meet you.” Arthur popped the rest of the cake into his mouth. “Are you going to tell my fortune?”
“At the right time, I will help you see your own future.”
The woman’s flirtatious tone had vanished, replaced by a level for-an-additional-fee drone. Jesus. The woman could not be a day over twenty-two. Far from the muumuued gypsy Gina had been imagining, Madame was not only practically a teenager, but remarkably beautiful. Her smoke-blue hair fell in a luxurious cascade down her back, fastened primly by copper barrettes at either trim ear. The barrettes’ brassy color was matched by the scarf knotted at her throat and tucked in the collar of her business-casual blazer. Her clear skin radiated ivory as if backlit by the spirits she trafficked in. But it was her eyes, petal-shaped pools as absorbing as liquid tar, that swallowed the room. Under that gaze, Dad’s wet slosh of a gulp was actually audible. Arthur squirmed in his chair. Gina had the feeling his fidgeting wasn’t inspired by the sweets.
Madame again zeroed her luminous stare on Gina. Gina fired back with her own notorious look, the one that typically sent Red and Arthur scuttling for an apology over some unfathomed wrongdoing.
“You’ll have to forgive my daughter’s rudeness.” Dad’s chin was streaked with more cream than Arthur’s. Madame tapped a manicured finger on her cleft. Dad grinned and wiped away the smear with the back of his hand. “These cakes are delicious enough to wear, my dear! Virginia’s been dueling with some hard times. She’s a real trooper, by gad. Pulling herself up by the bootstraps.”
“Thriving, in fact,” Gina snapped. There went Red’s hope of bringing home a check from Dad.
“Started her own petting business.”
“Pet care,” Gina corrected. Arthur tented his brows at her quizzically. “Starting small. Cats, mostly.”
Madame Bozek didn’t so much as blink, but Gina got the uncomfortable feeling that the straight-arrow act meant that the woman saw right through her.
“Make certain you’re bonded and insured, Virginia, in case those old fogies keel over on your watch. Just takes one unfortunate accident to rubble your business scaffold.”
“Excellent foresight, Carl.” Madame nodded.
Gina fumed. She’d never mentioned the cats’ ages to Dad. “That makes no sense, Dad.”
“Insurance, Daughter? A must!”
“The rubble of my scaffold?”
“It means if Donder and Blitzen kick the bucket your business is toast,” Arthur supplied cheerfully.
“If I’ve taught my daughter anything, it’s self-reliance. Gotta have the guts to start all over when the rustlies smack down. Shall I be mother?” Dad poured a cup for Madame shakily. Delicate golden drops splashed Madame’s saucer.
“I can do it, Grandpa.” Arthur took the pot gently, aimed a smooth amber stream into Madame’s cup.
“I’m glad you arrived, Virginia. We have located some exciting energies for you.” Madame’s tone was once more brokerage brisk. Gina didn’t know which was harder to take: Bozek’s professionalism toward the psychic con or the fact that a woman closer in age to Arthur than Gina appeared so poised. And prosperous. Gina would have better traction against the village seer knock-off, whose fakery would eventually doom the charade. Madame Bozek’s level voice oozed authenticity.
“Lighting the green candle every teatime for you, Daughter,” Dad said. Gina glanced at the table and then, furtively, at the bookshelf behind Dad. The top of the case was bare. No candle in sight, thank God. Only Red knew about Mom’s candles. Apparently that secret was still lodged safely in the bunker of Gina’s psyche.
“At the afternoon tea,” Madame corrected gently.
“What’s a green candle for?” Arthur asked.
“Money,” Dad and Madame chimed in unison.
Gina put a hand over her cup as Arthur leaned to serve her tea. “Not thirsty.” Madame Bozek finally broke her unnerving gaze to exchange a significant look with Dad.
“A fulsome cup of tea is the kit and caboodle of attainment, Daughter.” Dad attempted an off-kilter sip. Tea splashed his lips. Madame rose slightly and discreetly slipped a napkin onto his lap. At least she didn’t dab the man’s chin.
“So, really, if you light a candle you’ll get money?” Arthur asked eagerly.
“If it’s green, works every time.”
“Dad, please.” Gina turned to Arthur. “Honey, that’s not a proven fact or anything, OK?”
“Belief is not required for bestowal.” Madame Bozek sipped her tea soundlessly.
“Now that my daughter is back in the saddle, time for the good news about my son-in-law,” Dad announced.
Gina said, “As it happens, Red is doing fine.”
“Daddy got a job?” Arthur’s eyes shone with heartbreaking relief.
Gina tucked her guilt away. At least she was telling the truth, or some reasonable version of it. “He’s meeting with a major client right now.”
“The sands across the sea, then.” Dad nodded with satisfaction. “Just so, Cassie. Hit another nail square on the head.” Madame Bozek inclined her head modestly. Gina thought she could detect a girlish flush creep along the delicate jaw line at the sound of her name. And Bozek had called him Carl earlier. Could this girl, this child, be flirting with her father? Or worse?
“Do the Arabs keep cats, I wonder?” Dad continued thoughtfully.
“Cats were first domesticated in the Middle East, Grandpa.” Arthur snagged another tea cake.
“What on earth are you talking about, Dad?” A globe of cream plopped on Arthur’s lap. Gina handed him another napkin.
“Your petting business. Will the Arabs hire a woman, do you think? Red should factor in the cultural impact on both your livelihoods, Virginia.”
“Dad’s moving in with Arabs?” Arthur asked Gina.
“Dad! You’re not making any sense at all, and you’re upsetting Arthur.”
“I’m not upset.” Arthur swatted at his leg with the napkin. “I just want to know about Dad and the Arabs.”
“Portability to the desert is something you should have built into the cat business plan, Daughter.”
“Animal scientists traced the DNA of all the housecats in the whole world to the DNA of desert cats. Mostly in Saudi Arabia,” Arthur said.
“It isn’t Saudi Arabia we’re talking about, is it, Cassie?” Dad turned to Madame Bozek.
Madame raised her delicate hand. “This revealing is premature.”
“Cat’s out of the bag.” Dad winked.
“When the recession is over, can we get a cat?” Arthur asked Gina.
Madame gave Dad a fond look of mild disapproval. “Carl. Our task is to gift knowledge at the right time.” She turned to Arthur. “There are adventures ahead, young man, and journeys, and good fortune.”
“Neat,” Arthur breathed. “Wish Mom hadn’t broken my foil just in time for my adventure.”
“I didn’t break your sword!” Gina blurted.
“Goodness gracious.” Dad set down his cup with a clatter. “What is this sword you are needing, Grandson?”
“A foil, Grandpa. It’s a pistol grip. They sell them at the mall. They aren’t that expensive.”
“Well, that’s a thing easily mended, at least.” Dad bestowed on Arthur precisely the type of it’ll-be-ok smile he’d never once parceled out to Gina. Buying the cheap knock-off was straight out of Dad’s playbook. He believed in a child proving their commitment to an enterprise before investing in quality equipment. He never believed in replacing anything Gina had been careless or unlucky enough to break.
“There’s the carpet, too,” Arthur added.
“Arthur!”
“Well, now, Daughter, that’s what insurance is for.” Dad glanced at Madame Bozek, who nodded.
Bull’s-eye. He divined everything, right down to the bleach stain. Gina should have stuck to the phone calls. “I’m sure the Arabs will spring for it. I thought this visit was all about doing a
reading on me. How about we break out the psychic deck or the crystal ball or whatever Madame uses.”
“They have already contacted me,” Madame Bozek told Gina. “They are here with us now.”
“Who?”
“Your mother and your son.”
From the hallway, a clock chimed. Brassy, artificial notes stirred the air. Gina caught her breath. Rage, and then the old floating. The dull, feathery sensation was almost a comfort. Had she missed this grief?
Arthur crumpled his napkin. “Of course I’m here. But Grandma’s dead. Both Grandmas are.”
Madame gazed calmly at Gina. “Your mother tells me that the meaning of her passing became clear to her when you sent her your baby, for they are always together.”
The floating sensation plummeted. A blackness seeped in, a shade being pulled. How could Dad have shared Gina’s deepest wounds with this girl? For the moment she was forgetting that she never had revealed her miscarriage to Dad.
“Are you having a baby, Mom?” Arthur’s hesitant curiosity was unbearable.
“What good news, Daughter! Cassie is saying your mother was driven by purpose when she took her life. Not madness.”
By you! Gina wanted to scream. Tears sprung to her eyes. She was driven by you!
Arthur’s voice again, high now, and very young. “Grandma committed suicide?”
“More good news! Before you leave the country, you can forgive me.” Her father’s certainty infuriated her, as if forgiveness came down to simple cause and effect, not a white-knuckle effort of the will.
Gina wiped at her eyes, bone dry now with rage. The clock’s vibration had stopped up her ears. The tea’s tangy aroma hung in the damp air. Dad was helping himself to another cup. “I want you to leave.” She stared at Madame Bozek so she wouldn’t have to watch her father’s unsteady pour, wouldn’t be tempted to make excuses for this lunacy.
Madame stood up promptly as if she’d been expecting Gina to banish her. She stacked the dirty plates and swept briskly from the room toward the kitchen.
“I meant, leave this house,” Gina yelled after her.
“Did my grandma commit suicide?” Arthur repeated.
The expression on his face was one Gina had worked his entire life never to see. She reached for his hand. Forced herself to speak softly. “Grandma died of natural causes, sweetheart.”
“There is some truth to that statement, Grandson, but the natural aspect of her passing was premeditated.” Dad took up his cup again and sipped tea calmly.
From the kitchen the spray hose splashed hollowly against the porcelain sink. “Arthur.” Gina handed her son his plate. “Please help Madame with the dishes.”
“What about the baby?”
“Do the dishes, Arthur.”
Arthur unfolded his legs from the prissy chair, grabbed the cakes and bolted to the kitchen.
The floating keeping Gina aloft now was quicksilver fury. There was a recklessness to this levitation she almost liked. Keep your nut small, she reminded herself. Anger at her father was a bad investment, one sided and corrosive. “Dad, I’m not sure how to say this.”
“Madame B can leave one speechless, bless her. Never know to look at her that she is two years older than I.”
From the kitchen laughter rose over the rattle of dishes. Gina couldn’t separate Madame’s light, friendly giggle from Arthur’s, the only register of his voice that hadn’t deepened. “That girl is barely in her twenties. Look, enough is enough. You can’t have anything more to do with her.”
“I must, Daughter. Twilight descends, and I crave the revelatory urge.”
“That twilight is cataracts. I’m not even going to discuss what the urge is.” Gina leaned forward, the nearest move she could make to drawing close to him. “I want you to see a doctor.”
“I’m hale and hearty, Daughter.”
“A mental health professional.”
“Ah.” Dad looked at her shrewdly, his old dealer’s cunning. “It would be easier for you, wouldn’t it, if I was unfit to forgive.”
“We tell Arthur Mom died of natural causes. I don’t want you telling him anything different. Ever.” She tried not to think about the fact that Dad had just made it impossible for Arthur ever to believe this again.
Dad took up his teacup. “Do we tell Arthur about the baby? Your miscarriage was news to me. Thank God for Cassie. Did it ever cross your selfish mind that I might have wanted to know you had suffered such a loss?”
Gina snatched up a china cup and flung it. The handle grazed Dad’s shoulder before the cup smashed against the bookcase behind him. A dog-eared Infinite Intelligence took a direct hit to the tattered cover. The splintering china was the most satisfying sound she’d heard in months. “Do we tell Arthur how his grandfather left his grandmother destitute? How he never gave his own daughter a red cent?”
Dad set down his cup. Drops of tea clung to his upper lip. He no more acknowledged the china shards lying at his felt slippers than he would acknowledge her tug at his sleeve on the car lot. “Did you know your mother embezzled from the dealership?”
Gina grabbed another cup from the silver tea tray and sent it soaring over Dad’s other shoulder. Missed him this time, but nailed something called The Secret Doctrine right in the spine. Another satisfying burst of shards rained down on the carpet. “If that were true, don’t you think that’s something I would know?” All his gibberish, his bullshit slogans, his pride, and nuts. Now she understood why he spoke in loop-de-loops and banalities. She’d forgotten how Dad’s straight talk was nothing but lies and malice.
“Would you? I never pressed charges, and she would never tell you the truth. Always too depressed to take responsibility for any damn thing.”
More bullshit. Her mother’s long days in bed, her repeated firings from menial jobs, her reliance on Gina for her stingy meals and abundant prescriptions, made her guilty of suffering, not lying. “Mom’s condition had nothing to do with how you treated me.”
“That woman wasn’t going to get one more cent out of me by sending you to do her dirty work. She turned you into a slick little money-grubber, all right. You were such a happy, loving kid until she had her way with you.”
“Shut up about my mother.” Gina snatched up a rose-encrusted saucer and aimed it like a Frisbee at the loose knot on his lavender shawl.
“I was always terrified she’d hurt you. Really hurt you.” Dad had warmed to the pitch. His shoulders squared with the old confidence. “Take you down with her. I thanked God when she died. My worst fears were never realized.”
A sliver of truth arrested Gina’s aim.
A row of brilliant flames, waiting for the gas to rise. Had Mom known Gina was coming that day? She’d always wondered why her mother had been wearing her new bra and hose. Had Gina mentioned she was bringing the dress after all? Because her mother relied on Gina for such things, Gina had told the tailor to call her when the dress was done. She’d never checked those last phone messages on the machine to see whether the shop had also called her mother.
Dad continued calmly as if he didn’t see the saucer angled to shatter against his heart. “You will leave for Arabia unmerciful. This I have had to accept as the price for revealing Cassie’s connection with your mother and your lost son, my dear little grandchild. And while you are away …” Dad took another swallow of tea. “I will pass to the other side.”
“That freak better marry you quick, if she’s planning to clean you out.” But Gina’s voice wavered. He’d succeeded again in making her feel like she’d lashed out childishly over things she didn’t understand.
“Marry Cassie? The thought never occurred.” Dad set the cup on the table. The china rattled with his trembling. When he removed his hand, the silence clashed with the quiet from the kitchen. “It would be like marrying my own self. I want you to know I have set up a trust for Arthur. You and Red can get back on your feet without worrying about the boy’s future.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful?”<
br />
“No more than I’m supposed to expect it. But know this. When I come knocking from the beyond, it will be to love you. I won’t haunt you, Virginia.”
Always the salesman, Gina fumed. It was all she could bear to think. At least he’d admitted that the parlor, the green candles, the beautiful fortune-teller were, like all successful pitches, both snow job and last bet that any future, even death, could be happily foretold.
Arthur ran into the room. Gina placed the saucer carefully back on the table. Arthur stared at Gina uncertainly, then at the china shards on the carpet. “What happened? Did something break?”
“Just clearing up,” Gina said.
“Your mother dropped a cup,” Dad said. “Or two.”
Madame Bozek slipped past Arthur. Her eyes glided over the broken pieces. Gina would always swear she saw approval, even delight, light the woman’s expression. Arthur sank to his knees to collect the slivers. Madame bent over Dad with a napkin. She brushed his lips dry, and then kissed him. Lingered lightly on his lips. An affectionate lover, a dutiful daughter, a loving mother of sound mind and body. The kiss could have been any of these women.
As if obeying an unspoken command, Arthur kept the silence on the drive home. Perhaps he wanted to know the truth even less than Gina wanted to tell it. Or perhaps he was picking up on her lingering rage that Dad had confided to Madame secrets that rightfully belonged between a father and a daughter. She was convinced she’d been justified in not telling Dad about the miscarriage after they reconnected. At the time, mixed in with her doubts over whether reuniting with Dad for Arthur’s sake was a good idea, Gina was battling terror that she’d never be able to bear another child. This was before she and Red decided to give up trying. Telling her father she’d lost a baby felt like admitting to a shameful weakness. Was it selfish to protect her grief from Dad’s by-the-bootstraps attitude toward recovery?
And, if Dad didn’t know about the miscarriage, how had Madame Bozek guessed, right down to the child’s gender? As Dexter’s leafy serenity changed over to Ann Arbor’s steamy, clogged streets, Gina chose, for the moment, not to think about that particular bull’s-eye.
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