The Reluctant Fortune-Teller

by Keziah Frost

  Norbert felt himself shrink in the bright light of Reggie Di Leo’s uncompromising stare. An accusing voice within him agreed with the detective’s assessment.

  “Yeah,” Reggie went on, with easy confidence. “You’re nothing but a common sociopath. Psychic, my eye. You and I know there’s no such thing. If you were a psychic, you’d know where Summer Moon is.”

  Reggie turned to find Carlotta and indicated he was “finished with Norbert.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The Joker:

  A psychic awakening. The discovery of untapped potential. Personal transformation.

  Before his interview with Reggie, Norbert had had an intense intuitive experience. It was worthy of a shaman in one of his own Peruvian-derivative paintings.

  When someone had called out, “What about Black Bear Island?” Norbert suddenly knew with certainty that Summer was there, and no place else. Norbert, standing in the buzz and excitement of the café, had had a spontaneous vision of Summer walking along as the arctic air cut through her gloves and stung her face. He saw tiny ice crystals gathered on her eyelashes; he saw her walking in the bright moonlight, up across the shoreline toward the pines. He saw her find the path and walk along, lighting her way and jangling her keys to warn off the nocturnal animals that filled the island. For that was where she was. Summer was on Black Bear Island.

  Norbert knew the island from his youth in the late 1950s and early 1960s, when he had visited numerous times with his Eagle Scout troop. He hadn’t been back since, but he remembered the place as a natural paradise, covered with pine trees and teeming with fascinating wild creatures.

  Summer had gone to Black Bear Island, and as if he could see a video in his head of her sojourn, he saw her turn right on the path and walk past a cottage, and forest area, and again, a cottage, and more forest area, and on until she got to the fourth cottage. He saw her light her footsteps in the dark, through the trees, up to the side door of that cottage, and let herself in with the key.

  That was the vision.

  Was it a vision, or a Sherlock Holmes–style deduction? Did it matter, as long as he knew where she was? In his memory, he heard the voice of one of his customers telling him about some real estate she wanted to buy, a place where she could go and paint. She’d said, I’ve thought maybe I could justify it by renting it out sometimes to other teachers. Logic told him that just because a teacher at Summer’s school might be renting out her cottage on Black Bear Island over winter break, and Summer was missing, that was not a sure indication that Summer was there. It would be more likely that the teacher would be using the cottage herself. And yet he knew he would find Summer there. By reading her cards, he had caused her disappearance. The “gift” he had never really believed in was now telling him with certainty where she could be found. As much as he wanted to put an end once and for all to what Aunt Pearl called his “second sight,” he would have to trust it, just one last time.

  Just as surely as Norbert knew Summer to be on Black Bear Island, he knew that he couldn’t tell Carlotta or Reggie Di Leo about this. They would say he’d already done quite enough with his “psychic powers.” He couldn’t tell anyone with the search-party team, either. Even if they believed him and came with him to the island, their noise and influence would put him off the track.

  Norbert slipped away from the crowd, wrapping his green plaid muffler around his face and stepping out into the cloudy winter day. The air was beginning to warm just a bit. The temperatures had been fluctuating uncertainly for weeks now.

  A voice called to him: “Norbert!”

  Was he hearing voices now, as well as seeing visions?

  It was Birdie, wrapped in a full-length green coat, stocking cap and knitted scarf.

  “Norbert, I have to tell you,” said Birdie, catching up to him. Her eyes were gentle; he had not fallen in Birdie’s esteem, at least.

  Norbert was anxious to get going, now that he knew where Summer was, or hoped he did.

  “I saw Summer’s parents this morning,” Birdie said in a confidential tone.

  That stopped Norbert in his tracks. “But—I heard they died in a car accident when she was in high school.”

  “Exactly.” Birdie’s gloved hands pulled up the collar of her coat. “So they dropped by with a message.” She looked up and down the street, which was deserted. It seemed the whole town was crammed into the café.

  “They said that Summer is safe and well.”

  Norbert, unsure of what he believed about Birdie’s spirit world, felt encouraged nonetheless. “Oh, good. Thank you, Birdie. Thank you for telling me.”

  “They wouldn’t say where she is,” added Birdie. “I did ask, but they wouldn’t say. But she is safe and sound...” Birdie stopped to reflect. “Of course, she could be safe and sound on the Other Side, you know. That’s possible.” She brightened. “But either way! The important thing is, she is safe! So there’s nothing to worry about!”

  Norbert nodded as if reassured, which he most certainly was not.

  “Birdie? Would you mind giving me a lift?”

  Birdie agreed easily. She betrayed no curiosity about what Norbert planned to do, seeming content with her own thoughts as she drove.

  Black Bear Island was situated just a few miles from the mainland. It could be reached by boat from the harbor. Norbert recalled that years ago, there used to be a ferry that ran back and forth regularly in the summer, and that could be boarded not far from where the Center for Deeper Understanding stood currently.

  As Norbert got out of Birdie’s car, she said, “I’ll go back and see what Carlotta needs. Unless you want me to come with you, to wherever you are going?”

  “Thank you, but, no, Birdie. I need to do this quietly, and all on my own.”

  Birdie did not ask what “this” meant. She understood the need to do things quietly, and on one’s own.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Ace of Hearts:

  Transformative power. Help comes from an unexpected source. Above all, trust yourself.

  Norbert walked through the snow along Edith’s property, to the point where the ferry used to run. There was no ferry there. He stood contemplating the mother-of-pearl horizon as it blended into the lake, far away. He shivered, and waited for his intuition to tell him what to do next.

  The snow crunched behind him. He turned.

  There was Edith, her eyes bright and watchful.

  Anyone else would say, “What brings you here?” or “May I help you?” But odd Edith simply spoke as if resuming a conversation that had recently paused.

  “Isn’t it beautiful here, Norbert?”

  It was.

  “It’s warming up, eh?” she observed. “I mean, it’s all relative.” She buried her mittened hands in a muff, creating the general impression of some kind of marsupial animal.

  “There used to be a ferry,” commented Norbert. He felt an urgent need to get to the island, and couldn’t pause for small talk.

  “The ferry doesn’t dock here anymore. It runs from Edwards Cove now. But not in wintertime, of course. If you want to go to the island, you’ll need to find someone with a boat who would take you.”

  Norbert considered this.

  “Edith, there is a young woman missing.”

  “Ah.” Edith seemed untroubled.

  Norbert said, looking across at his destination, “I saw Summer go there, in a sort of vision.”

  Norbert felt no reticence about sharing his vision with Edith. She accepted it as a matter of course. Of course.

  Edith topped Norbert’s remark: “And I saw Summer—or someone—go there, not in a vision. So, how do you like that?”

  Norbert turned to look at her. As usual, Edith seemed to be enjoying a private joke.

  “When?” asked Norbert.

  Edith chuckled. “I’m an early riser
, Norbert. I have been, all my lives.” She pulled her brown knitted hat down farther over her ears. “It was yesterday morning, just before dawn. It was so dark all around, in the woods and on the lake. Full of life. All the night creatures were wrapping up their work, getting ready to go home and sleep. Smoke was coming up from one of the chimneys on the island, like a ghost escaping into the skies, you know? The birds were all just beginning to wake up and start their squawking. That’s when I saw a figure—it seemed like it might have been a woman—walking across the ice bridge. She—if it was a she—was using a small flashlight to make a way across in the dark. I thought, It’s a little early in the winter to be using the ice bridge. But then, it’s been so terribly cold.”

  The ice bridge.

  Norbert had forgotten about the ice bridge.

  The harbor between the mainland and Black Bear Island sometimes froze to a depth of four inches or even up to two feet. That expanse of frozen water from shore to shore was called “the ice bridge.” When the water froze solidly, people walked across to the island and back. Norbert could remember an Eagle Scout winter excursion from his hometown of Buffalo to this area in 1961. On the frozen harbor, town kids were shouting, “Hey! Look at me! I’m walking on water!” The Eagle Scout leaders warned the young men of tragedies, when kids thought the ice bridge was solid enough to bear them, but it wasn’t, and had fallen in. Norbert reflected on how every experience in life eventually seems to become useful.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Ace of Spades:

  There is great power in this card. It signifies a determining factor. This is often seen as the “death card.” Try not to be fearful about this. Death comes in many forms, and many times throughout a lifetime. It may signal the death of childhood, the death of an illusion, and so on. Explore possible meanings. One thing is certain: life is about to change forever. Alternatively, you might be about to die.

  On Friday night, Summer had paced in her apartment, thinking about Norbert’s reading.

  Was there a great lie in her life? Was she blocking her own path? He had used the word “bitter.” Was she bitter? She was bitter only toward herself. Did that count? Of course, she was blocked. But how did he know that, just from looking at playing cards she pulled from the deck?

  He had said something about her causing harm. She could not bear the thought of causing any more harm than she already had. Who was that Queen of Diamonds? Could that be Gramma? But she wasn’t doing anything that could harm anyone, not that she could see. But then, she hadn’t seen the tragedy she was about to cause the last time, either.

  When Norbert had talked of disaster and possible death “in some form,” that had sent a shock of terror through her. Was she about to cause a disaster? Was someone going to die because of her? She began to imagine what those words might mean.

  Several hours later, Summer, bundled up so that she resembled a roll of carpet more than a human being, stepped off the snow-covered shore onto the ice covering the harbor. A sign forbade walking on the ice and warned of the depth of the water. She bounced up and down a bit on her boots, allowing herself just for a moment to think of what would happen if the ice were not solid enough. It didn’t matter. She was crossing.

  The ice stretching out before her had the solemn beauty of a lunar landscape. As she walked, moonlight beamed down on her at first, but as she neared the middle of the ice harbor, clouds covered the sky, leaving her in total darkness. She tried not to think of the deep and frigid water beneath her feet. Tried not to think of the stories of people who had fallen through the ice. In cloud-covered darkness, her small flashlight was enough to light her way, one step at a time. Once she slipped and fell down on the jagged, glassy surface. For a moment, she lay there among the frozen dunes of ice water, thinking about the effort of getting up and continuing her march through the cold. She wondered if she lay there long enough whether she would freeze to death. How cold was it? She rose and pushed on.

  It occurred to Summer that for once in her life, if she needed to call for help, she would not be able to. She’d left her cell phone on her bed—deliberately. She’d wanted to be out of reach.

  In fact, being chronically out of reach had become her only comfort in life. Holing up in her apartment with her curtains shut, eyelids shut, mind shut against the bright, bewildering world outside. Each day of work required a full evening of “downtime” to recover, and each morning it was a struggle to get up and get dressed for work. Once she was there, she somehow played “Spanish teacher,” and no one seemed to notice she was a fake in every way. How could they not notice? And yet they didn’t. Her department head had said to her just the week before, “Do you know, you are a very sunny person. Your name, Summer, suits you perfectly. I think you must be the happiest person I know.” He probably just wanted to seduce her. If that was his game, he’d lost. She had no interest in seductions, dating, friendships, or any other unnecessary expenditure of energy. There was just barely energy for work and for what was left of her family: Gramma and Hope. In her apartment, the hours slipped by sideways while she stared at the inside of her eyelids. Television overwhelmed her, the internet irritated her, and she couldn’t focus on books. She slept a lot. She was halfway through her twenties. Sometimes, she couldn’t wait for it to all be over.

  It was ten years ago that she had, through one act of teenage rebellion, brought disaster on her family. Through the years, she had rewound and replayed that night so many times, making it end differently. If just one thing had been different, her parents would still be alive. If Rory had found another girl that night and forgot to come pick her up; if her mother had put more authority in her voice; if her dad, instead of standing with his hands on his hips, would have put his hands on her shoulders and stopped her from running out the door; if that fifteen-year-old Summer could have known that what seemed like a game to her would have consequences that would never end.

  * * *

  Summer stepped at last from the ice onto the snow-covered island, letting out her breath in a cloud. It wasn’t much farther to the cottage. There was a string of only about twenty cottages on the island, all nestled together along the shoreline. The rest of the island was a protected wilderness. She found where the gravel path would be, beneath the snow, and made her way between the pine trees.

  Summer heard the chuckles and screeches of an American marten on the prowl. The marten was one of her favorite creatures. As a kid, she’d written papers about these nocturnal, catlike, carnivorous weasels that lived in the hollows of pines and swung from the tops of trees like acrobats. The island teemed with opossums, raccoons, bats, porcupines and owls. She’d spent summers studying all the wildlife when she’d come to the island with her parents. They’d had a cottage, which was sold after they died, and had since been torn down.

  Summer knew this place better than any other on earth. She had explored every foot of this island, and listened to its heartbeat. As a small child, she’d walked along its paths with her dad, trying to not make a leaf crunch—“like Native Americans,” he’d said. With her mother, she’d sketched and identified the wildflowers in their botanical illustration sketchbooks. On her own, she’d explored and spent fascinated hours observing the creatures going about their lives. For her, this place was sacred ground. Black Bear Island was the very place she needed to come back to now, to once again put her ear to that heartbeat.

  On the island, Summer would be able to find calm. She would be able to reset herself so that she could “avert the disaster” in Norbert Zelenka’s reading. Lindsay had told her she would leave a lamp on a timer. Its glow from the window welcomed Summer forward.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Ten of Spades:

  The tearing down of illusions, to make space for a new beginning, based on truth.

  The cottage was simple. It sat slightly apart from the other cottages, which were probably empty. It had two bedrooms, one of whic
h was an art studio filled with easels and Lindsay’s works in progress. There was a view of the water from the rustic kitchen table. The living room area was outfitted with thrift-store furniture, which gave a comfy, retro feeling. There was a stone fireplace with, mercifully, some dried-out wood in it. The other cottages on the island were all grander and larger—some were probably too big to properly be called cottages, but this one was homey and cozy like the one her parents used to own, and which had been replaced by a more ostentatious house.

  Summer lit the fire, using matches from the stone mantelpiece and newspapers from the iron basket on the hearth. She turned up the thermostat, which Lindsay kept only high enough to keep pipes from freezing when she wasn’t there.

  The gradual warmth filling the little cottage brought back the circulation to Summer’s feet and hands.

  She gazed into the fire as it grew into an energetic blaze. At this time of night, she should be asleep, but there was no chance of sleeping now. Her card reading with the strange old man at the Good Fortune Café had unsettled her. He clearly knew things, saw things about her, beyond the facade that everyone else accepted so easily. His deep brown eyes, his hypnotic, soft voice and his air of authority all led her to trust him and his psychic abilities. She felt he was asking her to look deeper into her own mind, and that was odd, because she had spent years of her life ruminating. Summer’s thoughts were pulled forward into the flames as she sat curled in a plaid recliner chair. She glanced from the fire to the splendid orange dawn that was springing up within the dark frame of the living room window, and back to the fire again.