by Suzie Carr
I opened up my eyes in a flash and stared at the red vibrating light. My heart began to buck, and all the insecurities from hours ago poured right back inside me, filling my veins with a bitter coldness.
Who was I trying to fool, pretending wildflowers and maple trees were going to defend me against the madness of my ravished imagination?
I flung the blankets off and jumped up to get the call.
I needed answers.
Chapter Seven
“Thanks for calling me back,” I said.
“I’d be lying if I said your call didn’t surprise me,” Willow said. “I’ve never been kicked out of someone’s office before.”
“Well, I’ve never been personally visited by a psychic at work before, either.” I tried to match her sweetness without success.
“I’m sorry if I scared you. You probably think I’m some kind of weirdo now.”
Now? “Unique is a better word. Don’t you think?”
“Sure,” she laughed. “Let’s go with that.”
We both paused.
“Did I scare you?”
I would never admit that she did. “You scared my assistant, Dean. He’s been begging me to call you back and apologize.”
“So, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Apologizing.” A laugh trailed her pretty voice.
“I acted kind of rude, I suppose. You sort of caught me off guard.”
“I tend to do that to people.”
“Hmm.” I fiddled with my bed sheet trying to figure out a way to break into the conversation without appearing panicky. “So, apparently, the suspense of my future is killing Dean. Care to enlighten me so I can put his mind at rest?”
“Killing him?” she asked, exaggerating the pronoun. “Remember, I’m a psychic. You can’t lie to me.”
Are any of my personal thoughts sacred in her presence? “Fine. I might be a little curious too.”
She rolled out a soft chuckle. “I’m sorry I showed up at your office. I’m usually not that unprofessional.”
“Does a professional protocol for psychics exist?” I asked.
“Well, it’s not like we follow a written code of ethics. Though I suppose if such a thing existed, a lot of people might be living in ignorant bliss right now. I’m not so sure that’s such a great idea. Do you think it is?”
“Don’t be tossing this back at me,” I said, sounding flirtier than I wanted. “I don’t buy into all the psychic hoopla, so you’re asking the wrong person.”
“Well, in your defense, a lot of fake ones take up space only trying to steal a quick buck or gain attention.”
“Oh, like your aunt.”
“My aunt is not a fake. She may not be clear in her premonitions, many of us aren’t, but she doesn’t pull things out of the air to pay her bills. She’s got plenty of money. She doesn’t do it for the money at all. She does it because it brings her purpose.”
“So, what you’re saying is that Dean really is going to suffer an allergy attack?”
“If she says so, I don’t doubt it. It could simply mean that he’s going to wake up one day and have to take an allergy pill to clear his sinuses.”
“Dean totally thinks he’s going to die of an allergy attack, and now he thinks I’m going to die of some terrible disease.”
“Oh, that’s ridiculous.”
“He’s even begged me to write out a bucket list. You have the guy thinking I’m dying. Please give me something I can tell him so I can calm him down. I can’t get anything done around the office. He’s like a chicken pecking around me, searching for the seeds of this imbalance you’ve planted.”
“I didn’t plant any such imbalance. I’m just the messenger.” She paused. “You’re going to be fine. I just sensed that you need to take better care of yourself.”
“How exactly does this sense come through to you? Is it like a movie? Like a fantasy movie or a dramatic one?” I spoke way too fast and erratically.
“You’re panicking. Please don’t panic.”
“I’m not panicking,” I said too loudly. “I just want to understand.”
“Sometimes I get a clear picture, like I’m right there observing real life. Other times, it’s like a bad acid trip where things blur over and make no sense at all.”
I pictured her as a hippy with loose braids hanging down to her breasts, swaying to sexy music, and sporting wildflowers in her hair. “So was mine an acid trip?”
“This is hard to explain over the phone. Would you be interested in meeting up with me for a cup of coffee tomorrow morning?”
I suddenly wanted to be right there, sitting in front of her and having her explain it all to me. “I guess Dean can wait another day.”
“Can you?” she teased.
“I’m sure I’ll survive,” I said softly. God, I loved sharing those flirty innuendos with her way too much.
“Hmm. I’m sure you will too.”
“Can I get at least one hint that I can pass along to Dean tonight?”
“Tell him he’s going to have to attend your birthday parties for the next six decades. At least.”
I squeezed my eyes in delight. “He’ll be most grateful. Don’t be surprised if you get a fruit basket delivered to the flea market this weekend.”
“Tell him I love pineapples.” She giggled, sounding just like a girl skipping over puddles and delighting in the splashes she created.
“You’ll get twenty of them, if I do that.”
“Then, I’ll share them with you.”
I pictured us sitting on a beach feeding each other pineapples and wiping the juices from each other’s faces. I snapped away from that vision. “Okay, so tomorrow. You’re not by chance an early riser, are you?”
“How early?”
“Eight?”
“I’ve got two kiddos, remember? I haven’t slept past six in eight years now.”
A vision of her lounging in bed with her hair loose and wavy, legs long and sleek, one dangling over the other, crept into my mind. I shook off that vision too.
“Great. Eight it is. How does Cassie’s Café downtown sound to you?”
“It sounds yummy,” she said, softly.
Her voice comforted me. I worried for nothing.
# #
The next morning, I walked into Cassie’s Café and spotted Willow sitting at a table at the far end. She was sipping coffee and smiling at the two blonde children sitting with her coloring.
“Hey,” I said, slightly apprehensive to break into their peaceful moment.
“Hey,” she said, easing back against the wicker chair.
“Mommy look,” the little girl said. “I stayed in the lines.”
“You did not,” the young boy said, pointing to one of her many spillages over the outline of a teddy bear.
The little girl’s eyes sank and her chin followed the same trajectory.
“But look,” I said, jumping in to rescue her. “Those squiggly marks outside the lines look like the teddy bear grew wings.” I pointed my eyes to the girl. “I’ve never seen such beautiful wings on a teddy bear before.”
Her smile returned, and her cheeks turned rosy.
The boy analyzed her teddy bear wings. “Whatever.” He shrugged and continued coloring a fire truck.
“I think you’ve just made yourself a fan,” Willow said to me. A look of awe swam in her eyes that tickled my ego in all the right places.
“I’m the fan. They’re both super-talented artists.”
The boy relaxed his face on that compliment, even breaking into a small smile and shy blink.
Willow stood up and waved me to a chair next to hers. “Have a seat.” She grabbed her pocketbook. “I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”
I blocked her. “I’ll get it.”
“No, I insist.” She wiggled around me and walked toward the counter. “Hot coffee?” she asked me over her shoulder.
“Sure.”
She walked with a bounce in her step, swing
ing her hips to a happy beat.
The little girl bit into her donut and white powder blew down her chin and landed all over her pink shirt. She watched me with her big, blue eyes. “My daddy has a shirt like yours.”
I looked down at my Old Navy long sleeved crew neck, suddenly self-conscious of my choice.
The boy gulped his milk, then asked me, “Who are you?”
I sat down and folded my hands under my chin. “I’m your mother’s friend.”
“My mother doesn’t have friends,” he said.
“Everyone has friends.”
“I don’t,” the little girl said. Powder covered the entire lower part of her face.
“You have your brother here, don’t you?”
She crinkled her nose. “He’s not my friend.”
He gulped his milk again, undeterred by her rejection.
Willow walked toward us with a steaming mug of coffee. “I hope you like hazelnut.” She placed it in front of me, and caressed my shoulder with her warm hand. “It’s the most delicious coffee I’ve ever tasted.”
I sipped the nutty flavor as she sank into her seat. “It’s delicious, thank you.”
She looked over my shoulder and panic stretched across her face. “Hang on a minute.” She climbed off her chair and her skirt lifted and refused to go back down as she rushed over to a man sitting at the counter. She confronted him with her hands on her hips. Her skirt stuck in on itself, showcasing a pair of white undies with pastel hearts.
She had absolutely no clue.
I should’ve told her, but I liked the entertainment factor.
She wagged her finger at the older man, and he stood up in quiet surrender. He spoke slowly, and backed away from her. She stood confident, tall, like a wrecking ball waiting to swing her mighty force on him should he not continue on his backward descent from the café.
“Your order is ready, sir,” The guy behind the counter yelled out to him as he approached the door. He turned and rushed out of the café, tipping his hat to Willow before heading down Broadway.
Willow plucked up the tray from the guy behind the counter, tossed him a few bills and walked back over to our table with a serene smile on her face.
I’d never seen anyone look quite so devilishly beautiful before.
She sat down and offered me the plate. “Pancakes?”
I laughed. “What just happened?”
She tilted her head, examining me for a few long seconds. “That man has followed me for days now.”
I dug a fork into the pancake pile. “Yet, you’re so calm about it all.”
“He’s a reporter.”
I stopped chewing. “What does a reporter want with you?”
“To prove I’m the real deal, I suppose.”
“Or a hoax?” I countered.
“That wouldn’t cook up a great story, now would it?” She winked one of her pretty blue eyes at me.
My tummy flipped again. “What did you say to him to get him to leave so amicably?”
“She told him she has a gun,” the boy said.
“Anthony.” She tapped the table in front of him. “What did I tell you?”
“Not to say the word gun,” he said in a rehearsed voice.
“It works, mommy,” the little girl said matter-of-factly. “You said it yourself to Aunt Lola. When someone bothers you, you tell him you have a gun.”
Willow dug her fork into the pile of pancakes too. “Sometimes they have no filter,” she whispered.
“They’re adorable,” I said, smiling over at them.
We each ate another bite. “So, do you really have a gun?”
She licked her fork with her rosy red tongue. “Maybe.” Her plump lips closed in around the fork as she gazed at me.
I blushed.
“So,” I said, trying to take the attention off of my red face. “I’m trying to understand this. How do you know he’s a reporter? Did he tell you?”
“He interviewed me. Then, he had the nerve to ask if I could demonstrate on a stranger.” She batted her eyes. “It’s not like I can go up to random people and peek into their brains. It doesn’t happen that way. It’s random.”
“And he’s hoping to catch a random glimpse?”
“Exactly,” she said, continuing to eat another piece.
“Fascinating.” I sat mesmerized watching her lick her fork again. Her tongue swept up and down its shiny surface, curling at the tip with each ascent. “It’s like the paparazzi of the psychic world.”
“He’s wasting his time.”
“How so?” I asked, staring at her lips and waiting for her tongue to unfurl against that metal again.
“It’s not like I go into some rabid trance when it happens. I don’t know what he expects to see.”
“You do twitch.”
“Did I do that with you,” she asked, mid-swallow.
“Yeah. And at the campground you twitched all the time.” She didn’t really, but I enjoyed watching her skin turn red now.
She bowed her head, fiddling with the pancake. “I don’t twitch.”
“You totally twitch.”
“Okay, maybe I do twitch. But, not during a psychic reading,” she teased.
We stared at each other, fighting off knowing smiles.
She looked away first and at her two children who were devouring their breakfast while continuing to color. The boy’s crayon kept inching off the paper and onto the table. “Gosh, I hope that’s washable crayon.”
I chuckled, before looking down at my oversized watch.
“Oh God, I’m probably blocking you from getting to work on time,” she said. “So, I should probably stop eating pancakes and tell you a little bit about what I sensed, huh?”
“For Dean’s sake.”
“Yeah.” She broke out into an easy smile. “For Dean’s sake.”
“So, what am I going to go back and tell him?”
“Well, for starters, you’re going to go back and tell him that you’re not dying.” She pointed her fork at me.
“So, you mean, he should cancel the life insurance policy that he had drafted?”
“Most definitely.” She crossed her leg and it dangled by my side. “You should warn him that the bucket list is going to get pretty long, as you have many years ahead of you to tackle it.”
I moved in a bit closer and my jeans brushed up against her bare leg. I left it there. “You mean I can push some of the big items to the end of that list, seeing as I have a lifetime to get to them?”
“Is skydiving one of them?” she asked, increasing the touch of her leg against mine.
My inner thighs quivered. “Of course he’s trying to sneak that one on my list. That’ll be the last item I check off.”
“Do you want to be sky diving at ninety-two?” She inched up closer to me, resting her wrist under her chin and staring dangerously deeper into my eyes.
All the anxiety of the night before disappeared. “I’m going to live until ninety-two?” The little hairs on my arms poked up again.
“If you take care of yourself. Sure. Why not?” She broke our gaze and dug in for another piece of pancake.
“So, you don’t know?” I asked, dueling for the same piece with my fork.
She tapped my fork with hers. “I’m a psychic, not God.”
I pushed her fork away and reclaimed the piece. “I’m glad we’ve ironed out that detail.”
“I’m sure you are.” She surrendered the piece to me, dropped her fork, and wrapped her hand around my wrist. She twitched again.
“You just got another reading off me, didn’t you?”
She contemplated my question with a blink. She looked to her quiet children coloring.
I pulled her hand to gain her attention. “Look at me, please.”
She pointed her eyes to me. “Fine. Yes. I just sensed something.”
“What?” Panic rose again, sobering me.
“It’s confusing.”
“Well try me. What did you see?”
She swallowed and squirmed in her seat. “You and Dean. You were in a hospital.”
“Why are we in the hospital?”
“I don’t know.” She looked about ready to cry.
My heart began to race.
“Mommy, look at what I drew. It’s my very own teddy bear,” the little girl screamed.
“One minute, Charlotte,” she said with authority as she kept looking straight into my eyes.
“Mommy, it’s a green teddy bear,” her voice screeched.
My nerves were on full alert. “What are we doing in the hospital? Are we injured? Are we being operated on?”
“I don’t know why you’re there.”
My mind reeled out of control. “Think.”
“Relax,” she said, cradling my wrist again.
I waited for another twitch.
“You’re in the room, and you’re calm. Actually Dean is flirting with the doctor.”
“That is a total crock. Dean doesn’t flirt.”
“He flirts.” She laughed. “He’s totally flirting.”
“What else?”
“I just sensed that you were stressed. Maybe work stuff? Maybe life balance? It’s all workable stuff. That much I can sense.”
“Mommy can you look now?”
She flashed me an apology, before turning her attention to her kids. “That’s beautiful, honey. Can you color me a red one too?”
“Sure,” she screeched.
We sat in comfortable chaos, staring at the colorful table and listening to Anthony slurp milk out of his straw.
“How do I work it out?” I asked.
“Come to the wellness center. We’re having an open house this weekend. Bring Dean with you. We’re going to have speakers and food, and you’ll get to meet Yvonne. She’ll tell you how to get rid of the stressors in life.”
I nodded, wishing I could see what she saw. “Maybe we should.”
She picked up a crayon and began doodling. “Yes, you should.”
I eyed the magenta crayon, grabbed it, and then began drawing my own version of a teddy bear.
# #
That night I dreamed of Willow. The sun was setting on the horizon, and we sat on a lifeguard chair at Sand Hill Cove Beach. We swung our legs and talked about things like whether man really did walk on the moon back in nineteen sixty-nine, and about how long it would take to walk from Rhode Island to San Diego.