Eye of the Beholder

  With that, he waved a hand at the laughing women, kissed Mindy and headed out. Greer watched him go, then turned her attention to back to the ladies, watching as Whitney pulled out a small pink-wrapped gift.

  “I’m betting it’s a girl,” Whitney said. And with a pleased smile, she handed over the package.

  Jenny looked very touched when she removed the lid of the small white box and gazed down on a child-sized silver bracelet with a single turquoise stone banded in silver.

  There were tears in Jenny’s eyes as she looked up at her friend. “You made this, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, and I can make it bigger as she grows.”

  “What if it’s a boy?” Mindy teased.

  “I’ll turn it into a tie tack,” Whitney fired back.

  But Jenny put her hand over her stomach with a small exclamation. “Oh my goodness, she didn’t like that,” she said with a smile. “I’m sure it’s a girl. See, there’s her tiara, and over here”—she prodded gently at her tummy—“that must be a high heel.”

  “I think we should ask Greer if it’s a boy or a girl,” Whitney said with a sly smile.

  “That’s right, you’re psychic!” Mindy gushed. Greer squirmed slightly.

  “I told you before,” Greer said, “I’ve never done that, and please, I don’t want you painting the nursery pink or blue based on a feeling I might get—”

  “Please,” Jenny pleaded, cutting her off. She had asked before, but Greer had flatly refused. Now Jenny had a room full of enthusiastic women on her side.

  “All right,” Greer agreed reluctantly. “But only if everyone in the room does the same thing and makes a guess. We can write them all down and see later who was right. You cannot take my impression as final.” Greer had some feelings that were vague and some that were undeniably distinct. Then there were the visions, which were as clear as watching a moving picture, but still open to interpretation. She had no idea what this would be.

  “Okay, Greer goes last. Everyone else make a line,” said one of the other women, who stood up and took control. “Mindy, can you get me a pad of paper and a pencil? I’ll keep the list. I’ll start with me, and I say girl.”

  The ladies all lined up and took their time rubbing Jenny’s surrendered belly as though it were a crystal ball, doing different bad impressions of stereotypical fortune-tellers. Greer pursed her full lips into a puffy moue so they resembled a round, overstuffed pink satin cushion; this was exactly why she had never advertised her ability, though she couldn’t deny that this was only good-natured fun.

  As Greer waited her turn, her grass green eyes floated around the handsome room. Her gaze landed on a lovely landscape painting over the stone fireplace, a peaceful mountainous view; it looked vaguely familiar.

  “Mindy?” Greer addressed the smaller woman, who had just proclaimed Jenny’s child a bucking-bronco-riding cowboy. “Is that a painting of one of the canyons near here?”

  Mindy’s eyes followed Greer’s gaze. “Oh yeah, that’s one of R.J.’s paintings. Local artist. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “Very,” Greer agreed. “Which canyon is it?”

  “It’s a view from up above the dam. I just love R.J.’s work. I own three of his paintings.” She smiled proudly.

  Rising, Greer left the group to their fun and went to stand in front of the painting to get a better look at it. It had that luminous feeling when the artist captures the light just before dusk that makes it so easy to fall into the feeling of the place. Greer relaxed her eyes and let her mind wander over the sensation of the picture rather than observing the paint and the artist’s technique.

  It happened before she could even sense that it was coming. Without warning, the picture before her became real: The greens and golds leaped to life and then, in a flash that Greer could actually feel on her face, they burst into flames. She stepped back suddenly from the painting, instinctively raising one hand protectively to block the imagined heat.

  “Greer, your turn!” someone called from behind her. The image disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

  Greer spun around; she had forgotten that she was in a room filled with women who saw only the objects struck by light in their fields of vision. She tried to smile, to recover quickly, but she saw both Jenny’s and Whitney’s faces tighten in concern at her own expression.

  “You okay?” Jenny asked.

  All the women were looking at her quizzically. Greer took a deep breath and smiled. “Oh, sure, it’s just the wine. I felt a little light-headed for a minute,” she lied.

  Whitney frowned. She had not bought it.

  Throwing Whitney a glance that she hoped would read as “I’ll tell you later,” Greer crossed over to where Jenny was lying back on the blue sofa with her tummy exposed. Greer sat down on the coffee table facing her and, closing her eyes, she took three deep, cleansing breaths, willing the shock that she had felt at the vision of fire to calm and leave her body so that she could get a clear reading, if one came.

  Rubbing her hands together to make sure they were warm, Greer placed them flat on Jenny’s belly and closed her eyes.

  Immediately an image came to mind. A girl—definitely a girl, with dark hair and shining eyes—was walking toward her with sunlight glinting off her long, thick hair. The picture was so stunning and charming that Greer laughed out loud. “She’s going to be a beauty,” said Greer, and most of the women clapped their hands and cheered. Only Mindy and another woman who had guessed male booed. “It’s funny,” Greer went on when they quieted. “I see her almost grown up, about fourteen. I’d say . . .”

  But Greer forgot entirely what she was about to say. Over the radiant and blissful image that she held in her mind had come another. It was Jenny’s face that hovered in Greer’s mind now, and her expression was as far from happy and sunny as was possible. In Greer’s vision Jenny’s face held a look of sheer terror. Her eyes darted everywhere as though looking for some way of escape, and over her, blotting out all else, hovered dark, black wings.

  Greer had seen those wings before; she was sure of it. What did they mean to her? Where had she seen them? She forced herself to focus on the feeling they gave her and remember it. Yes! She had seen them before in a famous painting, been struck by their perfection as a metaphor. They had been on an angel. Huge black wings on an angel of terrible and final beauty.

  The angel of death.