“Did he listen to you?” asks Cal, placing the butter back in the refrigerator.
“He pretty much blew me off. I don’t think he believed in the whole psychic thing. But on Monday he delivered our mail with his left arm in a cast and sling. He told me he’d broken it in a beach volleyball game. He kept asking me over and over how I’d known.”
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I said it was just a lucky guess. He told me I shouldn’t be fooling around with witchcraft and left. After that, he never said another word to me when he brought our mail.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I’m guessing you spooked him. But you were able to stop the visions, right?”
I pass Cal the sugar bowl and pointedly ignore his hand motions signaling they have to get going.
Mom looks down into her lap for some time before she says, “Pretty much, but emotionally, it wasn’t easy for me. I knew that, at least during the pregnancy, I was not going to take any chances. Still, I felt incredibly guilty.”
“Guilty, why?” asks Cal, tapping his foot and then leaping up to grab the sponge and sweep it across the table. Subtle, he’s not.
“Like, when I was still having breakthrough visions, I noticed the guy from the electric company who read our meter monthly had what looked like a red outline of a heart sort of shimmering on his uniform jacket. I saw a jagged tear running through the heart. He probably had heart disease or maybe was about to have a heart attack or something, but I knew if I told him, like with the mailman, he would think I was evil or, at least, crazy. I also knew receiving and passing on even one vision would likely open my mind up to more and more visions coming in. I couldn’t take the chance of anything happening to Claire.”
“But why did you feel guilty?” I ask, standing, giving in to Cal’s edginess to leave.
“I knew I was sent the visions for a reason, that not everyone was chosen to do this, to have this talent. On some level, I felt I had a responsibility to share what I saw.”
Getting up from the table, she says, “So, honey, I guess you have a decision to make. Now that you know it may be possible to block your visions, you need to figure out whether that’s actually what you want to do.”
42
Rena
I wake up at the sound of the hotel door opening and closing. Louis hands me a steaming cup.
“Hey, thanks,” I say, taking a sip of what has to be the best damn caffe latte I ever had.
“It’s beautiful out. Want to take one more hike before we start back?”
“Sure. But there’s something else I want to do too, if it’s okay.”
“What’s that?”
“A psychic.”
He opens the curtains with a whoosh. The glare of the sun makes me squint.
“You’re shitting me, right?”
With the sheet wrapped around me, I walk to the bathroom. I feel stupid because, come on, the guy’s already seen more of me than anyone else has in a really long time. But what looks (or feels) good under the covers in the dark can lose a whole lot of appeal in the daylight.
“No, why? You don’t believe in them?” I ask. I leave the door a little open so I can hear his answer. It sounds like he says, “That will make us late getting in,” so I say, “It shouldn’t make us too late. It’s fine if I can’t, but I’m guessing it won’t take more than an hour.”
Louis stands outside the bathroom door. I like that he’s a gentleman. Another thing that definitely kills the romance the next day is watching someone take a piss.
“I’m not worried about the time. What I said was ‘They all work for Satan.’”
I flush and come out. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his fingernails.
“Maybe that’s exactly why I want to go,” I say, standing in front of him. I bend down so my face is nose to nose with his and whisper, “Maybe I work for the devil, and the way he communicates with me is through a psychic.”
He pulls me onto the bed, laughing.
“Funny, very funny, and maybe a little bit true,” he says, nibbling my earlobe. Him and me have a repeat performance of last night’s show, complete with intermission and an amazing second act.
After a short hike, Louis drops me off at Mystical Haven. He says he saw a sports bar nearby where he can watch the World Series.
“Hi, I’m Rena,” I tell the woman at the counter. She’s wearing this scarf that’s wrapped around her hair and piled at least a half foot above her forehead. I can’t help staring at it. I keep thinking maybe there’s a bird stuck in there somewhere.
“Namaste, and welcome to Mystical Haven,” she says and gives a small bow.
“Yeah, hi. I met a woman named Claire a while ago, and she said if I was ever in Sedona to make sure to come see her for a reading. See, here’s her information,” I say, showing the woman the piece of paper.
“Claire’s wonderful, isn’t she?”
I nod. “Is she here? Can she take me now, do you think?”
“She’s been extremely busy, especially recently, but let me check.”
She walks through a curtain that, I’m guessing, leads to where all the psychics do their shit. I wander around the store. It’s filled with Buddhas of all sizes. Most are sitting, cross-legged, with their hands in their laps. There’s a big one, probably three feet tall, that has one palm facing out. I feel like I should return the high five. A lot of them are inside a flower of some kind. The ones I like best are the fatties who have these huge smiles and their arms are spread wide open, like everything in the world is fucking great. Kind of like how I feel right now. I walk back to the cash register, where there’s a display of necklaces made of leather strips. They have small silver pendants shaped like symbols attached. I’m trying to figure out what the different symbols mean when the woman comes back.
“Claire said she can see you now.”
Since I’ve never been to a psychic before, I don’t know what to expect. I guess I thought there would be these big stuffed pillows on the floor and some fabric draped from the ceiling. Like a harem I once saw in an old black-and-white movie.
But it’s just a small space with a table and two chairs and some books on the wall shelves. The only thing giving it a psychic vibe at all is the incense stick burning. It’s stuck into a hole at the edge of a carved wooden base. An ash about two inches long drops into the base as I sit down.
Claire’s the same as I remember, with light red hair and those green eyes.
“Hi. Remember me? Rena? I was with my little girl, Stephanie, on the flight from Philadelphia to Phoenix. Let’s see, it was back a bit, maybe like—”
“Yes, Rena,” she interrupts. “I remember you.”
“Oh, good. Well, I wanted to come see you. You know, for a reading. I’m in town with my boyfriend. We’ve been hiking. And to the casino. It’s sure beautiful up here.” I know I need to stop talking, but I can’t. When a person stares at you without blinking, it’s hard not to feel kind of nervous.
She shakes her head, like those horses at the farm my mom took my sister and me to. Like she’s got flies on her and is trying to get them to stop landing. And she’s so pale. She’s got a redhead’s skin, but it’s even whiter than I remember.
“Hey, you feeling okay? You look sort of—”
“No, I’m fine. Let’s start,” Claire says. She reaches for a deck of cards from behind her, shuffles them, and sets out three on the table in front of me.
I find Louis in the bar. He’s leaning over a beer glass, looking depressed.
“They’re losing,” he mutters. “Why don’t they replace the pitcher, for Christ’s sake. Such a royal fuckup.” Not his first beer, I’m thinking.
“Aw, that’s too bad. But, look, I got you something.” I pull the necklace out of my pocket.
Louis waits for the commercial before he turns to me and says, “Hey, you didn’t have to do that.” He fingers the leather string and the silver amulet and then hangs it around his neck.
“It’
s the evil eye, supposed to ward off bad things,” I say, kissing him on the cheek and signaling for a beer.
“Well, I could use that right about now,” he says.
“Bad game?”
“Yeah, that and I just got a call from my boss. They want me to move to California sooner than I thought.”
It feels like somebody reached into my chest and grabbed my heart and squeezed really hard.
“Why? When?” I can’t help it, I can feel the tears starting.
“One of the investments I handle just crapped out big-time. And I’m not sure exactly when, but real soon.”
“One of your investments? You need money?”
“Yeah, that would help, but sources have pretty much dried up here in Arizona.”
“Well, maybe you could invest for me.” I’m trying to come up with anything to keep him from leaving. Shit, we just got together.
He looks up from his glass.
“You’ve got cash to invest, Rena?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
He looks disappointed, takes a big gulp of his beer and starts to watch the ball game again, so I say, “I’m expecting a lot of money pretty soon. Stephanie’s birth was really complicated, really hard, and they think that may be one of the reasons her stomach’s so messed up. The lawyer says we’ll get at least two million dollars from the hospital. Of course, I’ll need to split that with Gary, but still . . .”
On the drive back, I tell Louis about the reading.
“It was amazing. She said I’m going to travel. Somewhere near water, probably the ocean.”
“How does she know that? I think they just make shit up,” he says, turning on his headlights.
“How the hell do I know? She put these three cards out on the table and then told me what each one meant.”
“Yeah, the same things she told every sucker before and after you. It’s a bunch of crap, Rena, like I said.”
“No,” I say, rubbing his arm and then moving down to push my palm against his inner thigh. “What you said was that it was the work of the devil.”
“And it is. I say stay the fuck away from those people. They take your money and tell you whatever the hell you want to hear.”
“Well, that part’s right anyway. She told me there was a new man in my life. Someone who can make all my dreams come true.”
He turns to me, smiling.
“Okay, so maybe she’s not that far off.” He pushes a button. The roof of the car slides back, and I can see all the stars. I wrap my sweatshirt around me and lean my head against the leather seat. “So tell me more about this settlement you’re expecting,” he says.
“The what?”
“The hospital settlement you mentioned in the bar? I’m guessing it’s for malpractice? Like you get money for pain and suffering, some shit like that?”
“Uh, yeah, something like that. It’s been tied up in court for a while now.”
“But it’ll be, what did you say? About two million?” he asks.
“Yeah, maybe even a little more. Our lawyer’s a real shark.”
He smiles, squeezes my knee, and says, “I can definitely help you invest that. So maybe when you get home, give your lawyer a call and see what’s happening?”
“Okay, sure. I’ll do that. And guess what else? The psychic said she’s coming to Phoenix to do a group reading real soon. She said she’d let me know when so I can sign up.”
My phone buzzes. It’s Susan again. It’s, like, the tenth fucking call since this morning. We’ll be there in another hour, so I don’t call back.
43
Claire
After teary goodbyes and talk soons, Cal leaves with my mom for the airport, and I have fifteen minutes before I need to go to work. I make myself another cup of tea and sit down at the kitchen table to think.
Do I honestly believe I have a responsibility to relay psychic messages? A responsibility to whom? To the person? To the universe? Sometimes the messages can be so random that it feels like tossing darts at a board where the center circle keeps moving. Psychic reading isn’t an exact science or, as many would argue, a science at all. Maybe Cal’s right and my emotions just took over, maybe I had a run of fantastic luck and made some really, really good guesses.
I am not my mother. She’s the real thing. The images, feelings, and interpretations I’m now receiving? Can I honestly support these as a credible foundation for giving information that people, my clients, will take seriously and possibly act upon?
The answer comes to me quickly. A resounding NO.
I am not willing to take on the burden of delivering such possibly bogus messages.
Washing my cup and spoon at the sink, I reflect back on Mom’s vision-prevention methods and think—and hope—I can make them work for me.
It’s time to go to the store and test this. I grab my purse and head out the door.
Success!
My first client of the day is Sophia. She’s on a waiting list to adopt. After years of tests, treatments, and the heartbreak of infertility, she wants to know if and when it will happen. As I lay out her cards, a vision begins to sneak into my brain, and quickly, I shut my eyes and say loudly, but silently, to myself, “No, thank you. I prefer not to help.” The image begins to fade, eventually turns to smoke and disappears. I tell Sophia about her cards, that the Page of Cups and the Page of Swords both have a connection to babies and that the Sun is the card of joy. Her face lights up, and she thanks me profusely, having drawn her own conclusions that a baby could be waiting on her doorstep when she returns home. I didn’t lie. I did give her the common interpretation of those cards, but since I thwarted the vision that threatened to break through, I didn’t have anything to add. For all I know, her cat could be having a litter of kittens and this will be the prognosticated future joyful experience, because—well, everyone likes kittens. Seems like I’m back to doing things the way I used to.
What a relief. I can feel my mental and emotional stability returning, that the ground has become solid and I am finally, once again, in control of my thoughts.
Mindi peeks inside my curtain and says, “I had a call from your eleven o’clock. Tooth abscess and needs to cancel.”
I’m about to say, “Great, I could use the time to . . . ,” when she continues, “but there’s a woman who just walked in who would like to sit with you—right now, if you can. Rena, I think she said her name was. Says she knows you.”
“Rena?”
“That’s what she said.”
Of course, I know her, the woman who talked nonstop on the plane and who left me to look after her kid while she went to the bathroom. My body starts to buzz, like there’s a low-level current doing flips up and down my spine.
“Claire?” I’m surprised to look up and find Mindi still standing there. “Can you see her? Um, maybe not. You’re looking kind of sick. You all right?”
“Sure, yes. I’m fine. Give me a minute? And then . . . bring her back.”
After Mindi leaves, I put my arms on the table and lay my head on top of them. I’m not sure what’s happening except that whatever control I thought I had just minutes ago has been obliterated. Unsuccessfully, I try to modulate my breathing. It’s as if my body has forgotten the pattern of in-and-out breaths and instead they come and go in a random and syncopated rhythm. I whisper over and over, “No, thank you. Please find someone else. I don’t want to see or report any messages. Please, not me,” while simultaneously trying to paint different colors inside my brain. I first pull in a bold red but find it only increases the tension in the clenched muscles along my back and up my neck. I try a deep purple and think I have it locked in when all I can see inside my head is purple, but it begins to dissolve until eventually it looks like weak grape juice circling a drain and then disappears. I’m about to try a tie-dyed version, thinking maybe the psychedelic pattern and colors will allow me to fixate and hold on to its inherent complexity, when Mindi returns, pulls back the drape, and says, “Claire, here’s
Rena.” My hands are shaking so much I need to sit on them to make them stop.
She’s pretty much as I remember her, except she’s lost a little bit of weight, her hair looks better, and she’s wearing lots more makeup. Her eyes are rimmed so heavily in black she resembles a rabid raccoon, and her lipstick is an intense fuchsia, some of which has smeared across her left incisor.
“Hi. Remember me? Rena? I was with my little girl, Stephanie, on the flight from Philadelphia to Phoenix. Let’s see, it was back a bit, maybe like—”
Taking a gulp around the saliva accumulating in my mouth, I manage to choke out, “Yes, I remember you.”
“So, how does this shit work?”
I shuffle the deck I used for Sophia. Normally, I’d have Rena shuffle but I’m doing anything I can to speed things along.
“Here. Cut the deck, please.”
“Okay,” she says.
I lay out her three cards.
The Six of Cups–reversed.
The Nine of Wands–reversed.
The Six of Swords.
My hands are sweating, and I rub my palms against my thighs before I speak.
I touch the Six of Cups card. In an upright position, this card indicates the client does or is about to spend a lot of time with a child. But in a reversed, or upside-down position, this card can mean a child is in trouble and in need of support. Suddenly, it’s like a TV set has been turned on behind my eyes. The picture is fuzzy, but I can still make it out.
Squeezing the sides of my head with my hands, I attempt to block the vision: Rena’s child on that plane. Those haunted eyes with the bags underneath them. How fragile she was, how skittish. Like a rabbit in a trap.
“How’s . . . how’s your daughter? What was her name again?” I sputter.
Rena pauses and then answers. “Stephanie. Her name is Stephanie, and she’s good. Why? Is there something about her in that card?” She looks closely at the Six of Cups, seems to consider the pictures (a garden, a sweet-faced person handing a bouquet of flowers to a child), and then sighs and says, “Actually, not great. She was in the hospital again last week. I’m not sure what else to do.” She hangs her head and sniffs.
The Perfect Fraud Page 21