Reckoning

by Molly M. Hall

  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.

  So he’s made friends with Mr. Davich. Well, my mom will be pleased, at any rate. I think about going next door and asking Mr. Davich what he thinks of Lovell, wanting an opinion that’s more balanced than my mom’s enamored compliments and my dad’s noncommittal shrug, when my phone rings.

  “Hey, Rach. That was quick.”

  “Yeah, I was just dropping Cassie off for her swim lesson.”

  “So what do you think? You and me, this weekend?”

  “God, I would love to. Nothing like hot guys with feathered hats and swords! But I can’t. I have to work. Sorry!”

  “That’s OK.” I’m disappointed, but it’s not her fault. “No biggie. It runs through most of the summer, so maybe we can go another weekend.”

  “Totally!”

  “So how’s the job going? Getting along with your mom?”

  “Yeah, for the most part. She’s been pretty cool. Most of the time. So it’s not so bad. But she’s got me running everywhere! I swear I have no free time anymore. I seriously don’t know if a car is worth it.”

  “Yeah, right. You know it is.”

  “I know. Hey, guess what? I met this really cute guy the other day. His name is Chris. He’s the son of one of my mom’s clients. I’m so hoping I can get a date with him. Then maybe we can double. You and Rick, and me and Chris. Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

  “That’d be great! Knowing you, you’ll be dating by tomorrow. But just give the guy a chance this time, OK?”

  She laughs. “Yes, mother. So how’s it going with Rick?”

  I smile, twirling a lock of hair around my finger. “Good. Really good.”

  “That is so awesome. I’m really happy for you, Kat. I know you’ve wanted this for a long time.”

  “Kind of hard to believe it’s actually happening, though.”

  “Well, believe it! You got your man!”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite that way.”

  “I would! Just don’t over-think it. If you’re happy and he’s happy, then just…be happy!”

  I can’t help but laugh. “OK. I’ll be happy.”

  “Good. That’s what I like to hear. Hey, I gotta go. You gonna be around later? I’ll come by after work.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  I look out the window, staring thoughtfully at Lovell’s house. On impulse, I step outside and squeeze my way through Mr. Davich’s expertly trimmed shrubs. I ring the doorbell and wait for Mr. Davic
h’s welcoming smile. When there is no response after several seconds, I ring the bell again. Silence. Surprised, I knock sharply on the door. Mr. Davich is always home. I peer through the window, but the only thing I can see through the sheer curtains is the faint outline of furniture. This is weird. Lovell just left and I can’t have been on the phone with Rachel for more than a couple minutes. Stepping off the porch, I glance down the street. Maybe he went for a walk. But other than a mother pushing a baby stroller down the next block, I don’t see anyone. I walk around the side of the house and peer through the fence.

  “Mr. Davich?” Raising myself on tiptoes, I try to see over the top. “It’s Kat. Hello?” No answer. I start to worry that he might have fallen or injured himself, and I hurry back to the front door, knocking again as I try the doorknob. Locked. Frustrated, I go back to the fence and try the gate. Locked, too. I could climb over the fence and try the back door. But maybe I’m overreacting. More than likely, he’s just walked the few blocks to the library and I’d missed seeing him leave. I sigh and walk slowly back to my house, still wanting his opinion regarding Lovell.

  A sudden crashing noise jerks my thoughts away from Mr. Davich. I can’t be sure, but I think it came from Lovell’s house. There is another crash, followed by the sound of breaking glass and a loud grunt.

  Alarmed, I hurry over to Lovell’s porch and ring the bell. There is movement behind the half-opened slats of the window shutters. A quick flash of something large and dark. A chill sweeps over me, and I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. Fighting the urge to run, I reach for the doorknob and slowly push the door open.

  “Lovell?” Stepping inside, my stomach twists into a tight ball. I hear a soft groan coming from somewhere further inside.

  Advancing slowly into the dining room, my nerve endings are tingling. It’s the usual prickling sensation I get whenever I’m about to encounter a spirit. Except this time it’s on overdrive. And I’m starting to get the same disconnected feeling I’d had at school. After I’d left Rick at his locker. It can’t be happening again. Not here.

  Leave. Get out now.

  But I hear another groan and forcing myself forward, I creep towards the kitchen, the dining table on my left gleaming in the morning light. I look cautiously past the oven and refrigerator, but the room appears normal.

  “Lovell?” I can hear the nervous tremor in my voice. Another groan floats up the stairwell from the basement. Abruptly, the intense prickling sensation I’d been experiencing stops, and the queasiness leaves my stomach. Whatever had been causing it is gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, I stand at the top of the stairs, peering into the darkness below.

  “Lovell?” There is a rustle of movement. “Is everything OK?” I really don’t want to go down there. “I heard something breaking. If you’re OK, just say so.” There is no answer.

  Wrapping my arms tightly around myself, I walk slowly down the stairs, gasping when I got to the bottom. Lovell is lying bare-chested on the floor amid shards of broken plates and cheap, unglazed pottery. There is a set of weights to the right and a punching bag is suspended from the ceiling in the room on the left. So this is how he stays in shape, I think. And then I see the blood on his chest and the bruise just beginning to darken his cheek. Hurrying forward, I drop to my knees beside him.

  “Lovell? Are you OK?” I place my hand on his shoulder and a tingle of electricity shoots up my arm. His neck and chest glisten with sweat. His eyelids flutter and he reaches for my hand.

  “Kat?” He blinks his eyes as though he’s trying to bring me into focus. “Don’t worry. I won’t let…” His voice trails off into an unintelligible mumble.

  Won’t let what? What is he talking about?

  “Lovell,” I raise my voice and shake his shoulder, pulling my hand away from his. “What happened? Did you fall or what? You’re bleeding.”

  He exhales loudly and opens his eyes wider, looking at me with a strange expression.

  Don’t move,” I say, watching a trickle of blood trail down the side of his ribcage. “I’ll be right back.”

  I run back upstairs to the kitchen and grab two dishtowels, filling one with a handful of ice cubes. When I get back downstairs, he has already gotten up from the floor and is sitting on the edge of an overturned milk crate, staring at the floor.

  “Here,” I say, pressing a towel to the cut on his chest. I put the bundle of ice in his hand. “Put that on your face.”

  He accepts it in silence and gingerly presses it to his cheek, avoiding my gaze.

  “Are you OK?” I ask.

  He nods, his jaw clenched. In anger, or pain, I can’t tell.

  “So you want to tell me what happened? What is all this?” I gesture to the mess on the floor.

  He drops his hand and looks at me. “What are you doing here?”

  I look at him in surprise. “Helping you!”

  “No. Why are you here?”

  Suddenly, I’m angry. Of all the ungrateful…I’d risked my life coming in here! Anything could have happened. Frustrated, I drop the bloodied towel onto his lap and stand up. “I was outside and heard something crashing and breaking and you grunting in obvious pain. So I came over to see if you were OK. And since you obviously are, I’m out.”

  I turn and head back up the stairs, wondering why I even bothered. I should have left him lying on the floor. I never should have come in here in the first place. Let him bloody well fend for himself.

  “Kat.” He hurries up the stairs behind me. “Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I was just surprised to see you here. That’s all.”

  I stop and turn to face him, crossing my arms on my chest. “You’re welcome,” I say, offended that he hasn’t even bothered to say thank you.

  “Thank you,” he says, grimacing as he wipes a thin smear of blood from his chest. Fortunately, the cut doesn’t appear to be deep. And what I’d thought had been swelling and bruising on his cheek was apparently nothing more than shadows caused by the dim lighting, as there is now just an irritated looking red mark.

  Remembering the weights and punching bag I had seen in the basement, I ask, “So is that how you work out? By breaking dishes or something?”

  He grins. “Something like that. It’s a form of martial arts. Some break boards. I break cheap plates. Same thing. I guess I got kind of carried away and tripped over my own feet.”

  For the first time, I notice the box he had carried in last night sitting on the dining table. The top had been carelessly replaced, one open corner revealing the edge of a large, leather-bound book. I glance up and see him looking at me.

  Pushing aside my curiosity, I head for the door. “Well, as long as you’re OK…”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for checking.” His lips turn up in that half-smile that does weird things to my pulse rate. Moving my gaze from his lips, I look with surprise at his cheek. Maybe it’s just the angle of the light, but I could swear the redness has faded to just a faint pink blush. How is that possible? I look at his chest, but he has draped the towel over his shoulder, the edges of it obscuring the cut. He lifts the now dripping ice filled towel back to his cheek. “I guess I should hit the shower. Then clean up that mess downstairs.”

  I nod and say goodbye, making my way back to my house.

  Sitting at my desk, I stare thoughtfully out the window. Just what the hell had been in Lovell’s house? And what does Lovell have to do with it?

  I glance at my computer and on impulse type in Lovell’s name. I really don’t expect to find anything, but it can’t hurt. Maybe he has a Facebook or MySpace page that will tell me something about him.

  Not surprisingly, there is nothing. Scrolling through the second page of search results, I click on a site providing name descriptions.

  Lovell (m) – French origin. Derived from a French nickname

  meaning ‘wolf-cub’ when used as a first name.

  How appropriate, I think. He is rather predatory.

  Curious, I type in Ambrose.


  (m) Greek ambrosios – immortal.

  I stare at the screen, momentarily taken aback. Immortal. How weird is that? Not to mention a hell of a thing to live up to.

  Whatever.

  I shake my head and turn off the computer

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The rest of the week passes uneventfully. Lovell must be keeping to his house because I see no sign of him and his truck doesn’t move from its parking spot. I assume he’s recuperating from injury. Or embarrassment. Rick and I decide to see the latest action flick on Saturday, and acting on what I’d said to my mom, I talk with Mr. Camenson on Friday about a job. He agrees to let me work part-time at the store through the rest of the summer, sorting and labeling inventory. If things work out, he’ll let me continue two or three afternoons a week once school starts again - as long as it ‘doesn’t affect my studies’. I’m thrilled, but it doesn’t get me any closer to getting the Jeep. Or any car. My mom told me that she’d brought up the subject with my dad, but he’d been indecisive. So she was leaving it up to me. If I wanted to pursue the subject further, then I could take it up with him. Which is exactly what I intend to do at the first opportunity.

  After the movie on Saturday – one of those mindlessly entertaining films, full of lots of noise, death-defying car chases and massive explosions, but little storyline – we head back to Rick’s house. He has some music that he wants me to hear, plus he has to let the family dog outside.

  “Are we the only ones here?” I ask. Standing in the kitchen, the silence throughout the house is almost palpable.

  Rick opens the patio door and Winston, their lively Jack Russell terrier darts out, running in ecstatic circles around the yard. “Yeah,” he says, reaching into the fridge for a soda. “My Dad and Carla are at some corporate dinner thing.”

  “You call your step-mom Carla?”

  “It was kind of a mutual decision. Both of us just thought it was weird to call her ‘Mom’. And you can’t exactly call somebody ‘Step-mom’. That’s even weirder. So we just decided to stick with Carla.”