by Amber Foxx
Mae helped her up from the second little bed, and Melody crossed the hall to the bathroom. “Okay, you’re going to hate this—but I can’t bend over to clean the tub, and those kids were dirty. Sorry. But I can’t get in it until—”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Mae opened the cabinet under the sink and got out cleanser and a sponge. “I’m used to cleaning up after kids. I married my second husband when his young’uns were less than a year old.”
“Second husband?”
Mae scrubbed. Somehow it was easier to say this without looking at Melody. “Yeah. First one was a drinker as well as a cheater. I left him.”
“And then you were this next guy’s second wife?”
“I know it sounds like a lot of marrying, but his situation was different. He knew his first marriage wasn’t gonna last—he just got Edie to marry him so he could have custody, ’cause she didn’t want the babies and he did. She was gonna have an abortion until he made that deal.”
“Wow. You do choose good guys.” Melody sat on the toilet lid. “What happened to that marriage?”
Mae rinsed the tub, shoving the suds and dirt toward the drain. The loss of Hubert hit her unexpectedly, a deep sadness that lingered in the dark of her where she never looked. She didn’t feel that way about Mack, but Hubert had left something behind. A slender root of their marriage still drew some of her heart’s blood. “We just grew apart. Didn’t see eye to eye. Argued.” She stood. “Mostly about living in that dead-end little town. He loves it and I didn’t. I never fit in to start with, and then this gossiping old man started a rumor that I was a witch. My husband’s family didn’t believe it, but they didn’t like it. So me and Hubert fought about my being psychic, too.”
“Why, if he didn’t believe that rumor?” Melody began putting her hair up in a twist, using hairpins from a basket on a small table near the tub. The little stand had a drawer in it and a low shelf below that, where a scale sat. She asked, “Did you read his mind or something?”
“No. I don’t do that. I try to only use the Sight to help people, but it still bothered him. Like, if I hold someone’s things that they handled a lot, I can see their past, or see where they are right now.”
“Wouldn’t you pick up other people, too? Like, if I do the laundry, and I gave you Zak’s shirt to use, would you get stuff about him or me?”
“Both of you, probably. Sometimes I can aim really well and only get what I’m looking for, but not always.”
“So it would work better if you used his shaving stuff. No one else touches that.”
“You’re not seriously asking me to do this, are you?”
“I might be, if he doesn’t get home soon. You could find out where the hell he is tonight.”
Melody took off her earrings and put them near the basket of hairpins. Mae hadn’t noticed them earlier, hidden by Melody’s hair. They were made from red feathers beaded at the top with tiny white rosettes. Wrong color parrot. But maybe she’d bought more than one pair.
Mae asked, “Did you get those earrings from a pueblo lady with blue hair?”
“Yeah. Misty got some for all of us.” Melody began to unbutton her shirt. “You mind helping me in and out of the tub? I guess if you work in a health club you see ladies in the locker room a lot, but I’m not a pretty sight.”
“Of course I won’t mind. I hope you don’t mind having me help.” Mae closed the tub drain, squirted some bubble bath in, and turned on the water. “Did she have any green earrings?”
“I think so. Misty and Tana got some with yellow feathers.”
“When did you get them? Early this afternoon, the woman that makes them said she’d sold out.”
“I don’t see how. We got these late last night right before she closed up. She had them in the back of the booth, off the counter, but there were a lot left. Are you sure she said she sold out?”
“Absolutely.”
“I wonder if she’s saving them for Indians or something. Didn’t want you to have any.”
“No, she told an Apache lady that there were none left, too.”
Melody grimaced as she struggled out of her jeans. She stood in her bra and panties, watching the tub fill, and then poked the scale with her toes and put her hands under her belly. “Shit. I’m bigger than when I was carrying twins. I could be having triplets and not even know it. Get the scale down. I want to know what I weigh.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. We keep it there so the kids won’t jump on it, and I stopped taking it down when it got too hard to bend over. Not because of my back—because of my fat. I need to know how bad it is.”
Mae put the scale at Melody’s feet. Unable to see past her belly, she foot-felt her way onto the scale. The dial spun.
“What does it say?”
A lot. “Two eighty-eight.”
“Phew. I was afraid I weighed three hundred.” Melody stepped off. When she finished undressing, Mae helped her into the tub. Melody moaned as she lay down but then smiled. “That feels good. So how much do you weigh?”
“One-sixty, I think.” Mae kicked her shoes off and weighed herself. She’d lost a couple of pounds. Triathlon training. She would have to eat better to keep her strength up. “Close enough.”
“I used to be that size. Not skinny, just in really good shape. I played basketball, rode horses with Will ... Can you believe that? I’d break a horse’s back now.” Melody turned off the faucet as the bubbles reached the rim of the tub. “Ask Jamie. I was pretty. I wasn’t quite as fit as you because I drank too much, but I didn’t look bad.”
“I saw your picture. You were more than pretty. You looked great.” Mae began putting her shoes back on. An impulse bubbled to the surface of her mind, one she didn’t quite understand, but it felt right, although it was awkward after Zak’s tactless comment the day before. She kept her eyes on her shoelaces. “I was thinking ... If you’d be interested ... I’d like to get some practice working with overweight clients. I’m still pretty new as a personal trainer, and I need to learn to do different kinds of programs. Could I practice on you? For free?” She finished tying the second shoe and dared a glance at Melody. “I know we live a few hours apart, but when you come to visit Misty...”
Melody closed her eyes. “I’ll think about it.”
“Thanks. Let me know what you decide.” Something moved Mae to add, “I have a hot spring.”
“I’ll think about that for sure.” Melody squirmed as if trying to stretch her back muscles, making a pained face. “Could you get me an ibuprofen?”
Mae opened the medicine cabinet and found herself looking at Zak’s razor, shaving cream, and aftershave. His things she could use to find out his secret. A scatter of thoughts that had been nagging her snapped into place like puzzle pieces.
“When Bernadette told y’all I was psychic, how much did she say about it? Did she describe how I work?”
“No. She said you were really gifted, though, and that if you’d been Apache, you’d have been a medicine woman like Bessie Yahnaki.”
“Wow. That’s quite a compliment.” Mae brought a pill and a cup of water to Melody. “It wouldn’t make anyone think I can do exactly what I can do, though. Someone else must have told Zak. That would explain why he thinks I might have taken something of his. It’s why he doesn’t want me in the house.”
Melody swallowed the pill. “They must have just told him. He was fine with you earlier. You think Jamie mentioned it?”
“I don’t think so, but I can ask him. You mind if I go out and talk with him?”
“Tell him to come in.”
“I don’t think he wants to.”
“Because Zak told him not to.” Melody sighed. “Give me my phone before you go. It’s in my back pocket.”
Mae found it and gave it to her. “You calling Zak?”
“What’s the point? No, I just need something to do. Check Facebook. Watch videos. So I don’t fall asleep in the tub.”
Mae sat close by Ja
mie on the glider. He was staring at a page in his book. It was full of underlining and notes. She doubted he could read it well in the weak illumination from the streetlight and the windows, but then, he seemed to have studied it thoroughly. His dedication to being a good partner touched her. She slipped her arm around him and leaned her head against his.
“I love you.”
Jamie closed the book and rested his hand on her thigh. “Love ya, too.”
“You seem kinda sad.”
“Dunno what I did to make Zak not trust me.”
“It’s me, sugar. Not you. He must think I’m gonna use the Sight on him. Did you mention how I work as a psychic—needing to use people’s stuff?”
Jamie fingered the sides of her kneecap and probed her patellar tendon. “Nah. Just fucked up, y’know? Made him think I was nosy. I wasn’t.” Jamie related what Zak had been doing and saying, and the spiral of misunderstanding that had followed. “Wasn’t like a normal fight. Something wrong with it.”
Mae knew what he meant about his normal fights. Jamie got into fusses and spats with everyone he was close to, especially his mother, and no one took those arguments seriously. He and Zak had taken this one very seriously, though Jamie had only been acting like Jamie—walking up without a sound, butting in on a phone conversation—and Zak had to be used to this. It was what he’d been doing when Jamie arrived that was the problem. “Sugar, I don’t think any of this is your fault. You caught Zak at something, part of this business that he’s hiding.”
“I know. That’s what I was trying to get him to talk about.”
“But what if Reno told him what I can do? Reno acted worried when he found out. He might have passed it on to Zak, like—‘Don’t let her get hold of your things’—and Zak blew it off. Until he put two and two together and thought we’d taken something, or that we would.”
“Bloody hell. He’s got to be into something bad to even think about that.” Jamie paced across the porch and drummed his knuckles on the railing. Rain blew in on him, moistening his shirt. “Can’t believe it. Zak. Stuck-up bastard won’t even break the fucking speed limit like a normal person. He’s got to be perfect. The role model for all Apache youth. If he’s doing something illegal, it’s got to be scaring the crap out of him.”
That would explain the intensity of his fear and suspicion when he almost got caught. Role model for all Apache youth. Jamie had said it with a touch of irony, but it was true in a way. Misty said Reno had extra money. If Zak’s secret activity was part of the same thing, it would have to be bringing in a good amount for him to dare risk his reputation. If he got arrested, he could lose his jobs, and the kids that looked up to him would lose their hero.
Mae joined Jamie, placing her hand over one of his. “Could you see what he put in his car?”
“Nah. Too dark. Nothing big enough to block the windows.”
“Melody said if he doesn’t get back soon, she wants me to find out where he is and what he’s doing. You didn’t like the idea when Misty asked me to find out about Reno, but there could be a lot at stake. If they’re headed for trouble and we can stop them—”
“Fuck.” Jamie gave the base of the railing a small, futile kick. “I was supposed to get him to tell me.” He looked into her eyes. “Give me another chance. When he gets home. He’ll never forgive us if you do a psychic search and catch him out. He won’t trust us.”
“Sugar, he already doesn’t trust us.”
“Jeezus.” Jamie gazed out at the storm. “I hate this.” He looked down at their hands. “Guess you have to do it if Mel wants you to, but it feels wrong. Wish they’d just fucking talk to each other.”
Chapter Thirteen
While Mae helped Melody out of the bath and into bed, she shared the essence of her talk with Jamie. Melody promised she wouldn’t tell Zak about the psychic work if she could help it, but he still hadn’t called or answered her texts, and she wanted to know what he was hiding.
Mae took Zak’s razor from the medicine cabinet. It did feel wrong, even though her reasons for doing it were right. She could almost see Zak holding the razor, looking at himself in the mirror. Already, she felt she’d intruded too far on his privacy, and if her vision was off target she could intrude a lot further. It was weird to be doing a psychic journey sitting on a toilet lid, too. She might get some incredibly unwelcome information. However, if Zak showed up suddenly, she wouldn’t have to explain what she was doing in the bathroom with the door closed.
She dug the pouch of crystals from her purse and chose a clear quartz point for strengthening her focus and amethyst for intuition, then took a moment to settle her energy.
When she heard the front door open, she froze, but no sound followed until a kitchen cabinet opened and water ran. The silent walking should mean Jamie. Though Zak was lighter, his steps were heavy, as carelessly thumping as a child’s. Water ran again, followed shortly by the thunk of a glass on the counter and a loud, vocalized sigh of relief. Definitely Jamie. Even thirst was a minor drama. Once she heard him talking to Melody from the doorway of the bedroom, Mae relaxed and turned her mind inward.
She asked whatever force guided her to help her see what Zak was doing. Her inner vision narrowed to a tunnel, as it always did at the beginning of a vision, and then broke open in a new place. It was a quaintly old-fashioned motel room with small windows covered by frilly curtains. Letitia sat in an armchair, writing in a leather-bound notebook. Zak perched on the edge of a hard-backed chair, his elbows on the table in front of him, his thumbs tapping.
She looked up. “I’m grateful, you know. This will make a big difference.” As she tucked her notebook into her purse, a subtle smile curved her full lips. “I’m sorry it has to be over. I wish there was some way to keep going.”
“No.” Zak frowned at her. “It has to be over.”
“I know. All over but the money.” Playing air guitar, she sang a line from an old rock and roll song about money, shaking her hair and shoulders to the beat.
“Is it ever going to sink in with you that this is serious?”
“I’m not a serious person.” She batted her eyes at him. “Isn’t that part of my charm?”
He didn’t flirt back but hunched over the table, his eyes narrowed, his restless thumbs moving faster. “You need to take the risks seriously. Be careful.”
“I will. We all will.”
“You’d better.” Zak stood and pressed his hands into the small of his back, provoking a cracking noise. “I should get going. One of my buddies is getting suspicious.”
Letitia walked to the door with him and put her hands on his shoulders, tilting her face up to him as if asking for a kiss. “Should I leave a little lipstick on your collar?”
Zak gave her a light, quick hug and let go with a sigh. “Nice idea, but no.”
Mae’s vision followed Zak out into the parking lot. A No Vacancy sign glowed below one that displayed the name of the motel, the Alpine Lodge. Zak got in his boxy old wood-paneled station wagon and turned right onto a busy four-lane street. Where was this? Not Mescalero, but not far off.
At the same time the question weakened her vision, a knock on the door broke her concentration. She cleared her energy with snow quartz and took a second to feel present in her body again. “Yes?”
Jamie said, “Got to piss.” She stood, let him know it was okay, and he barged in, flipped the seat up, unzipped, and sighed with relief. “Jeezus. Sorry to interrupt. Didn’t want to do it in the yard, though, y’know? Fucking coffee. And then I drank two glasses of water and—do your kidneys react that fast? Jeezus. My piss is yellow. Does that mean you’re dehydrated? I was dry as a dead dingo’s donger.”
The transition from Zak’s problems to Jamie’s rambling about urination was disorienting, and Mae couldn’t think of anything to say. He finished his business and zipped up. “You find out anything?”
“Sort of, but not enough. He may be on his way back. Where’s the Alpine Lodge?”
“Ruidoso. H
e’s leaving already? He just had time to get there.”
Mae put the razor back in the medicine cabinet. “He must have delivered something to Letitia—the lady he’s been hanging out with. They were in her room. Talking about money and how this is the last of whatever he brought her.”
“Good. It’s finished.”
Mae was about to correct him when Jamie tripped on the scale. “Bloody hell. Where’d that come from?”
“Sorry. I forgot to put it away. Melody wanted to weigh herself.”
To Mae’s astonishment, he stepped onto it. The last she knew, he’d made a firm decision to stop worrying about his weight. “Why are you doing that?”
“Mel showed me a video Will shot at Zak’s party last night and I’m on his fucking Facebook with my shirt off. Thought people only did that crap to celebrities. I look fat.”
What had Melody been thinking, showing Jamie that video? Body image anxiety was the one area of his mental health that had stopped erupting. But that was recent progress, too recent for her to know about, and she was feeling bad about her body. No doubt she’d expected—even invited—Jamie to join her. Or maybe she’d just wanted to vent about the party.
Melody called, “What’s your number, Pudge?”
Jamie looked down, and his eyes opened wide. “I’ll be stuffed. One ninety-nine.” With a snort-laugh, he stepped off the scale. “Been marked down. I’m a bargain.”
Mae hoped this meant he’d gotten over the worry already. She dreaded a new round of obsessing on his target weight of perfect-one-seventy-five. “I take it that’s okay, then?”
Jamie answered by singing an old song about being too sexy for his shirt and dancing into the hallway, bumping hips with her on his way.