The Perfect Fraud

by Ellen LaCorte

  “Yes, I can see that because, uh, this card, when it’s reversed, means a child may be in trouble.”

  Another vision flashes, and there’s pulsating behind my eyeballs: Rena standing above Stephanie. All I can see is Rena’s back as she leans over the little girl. Rena’s got something in her hands, but I can’t make out what it is. Then it all fades away.

  I grasp again for a color to blanket my brain. At the same time, I’m frantically mumbling, “No, thank you. Go away, please. Get someone else.” I think my voice is only in my head until Rena says, “What? I didn’t hear what you said.”

  “Oh, sorry. Nothing. I was just considering your second card, the Nine of Wands.” I point to it and say, “This card usually means you’ve gone through some kind of battle and won. You’re worn-out but resilient.”

  “Right. That makes sense. All this hospital and doctor crap has been nothing but one big fight.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” I say. “But, see, this card is also reversed.” I don’t know how to phrase my next question to her as the Nine of Wands, when upside down, can indicate the client might have psychological issues. Another image strikes behind my eyes, sharp as a lancet. I see Rena’s face, but it’s not actually hers. It’s more of a mask, a dark cover with holes cut out for eyes and a nose, but not for the mouth. What is she not telling me? What is she hiding?

  “Yeah, so?” she asks.

  “So, Rena . . . How are you doing with all the medical issues?” I say, placing emphasis on the word you.

  Rena gives out a long exhalation that ends with “Shit.” She says, “I’m so tired, I can’t hardly stand it. You never get a break. This weekend, here in Sedona, with my boyfriend . . . it’s the first time I’ve been away in years. You need to be separated from your kid once in a while, for your own sanity, you know?” She fingers the card and asks, “Why? Is that what this card says?”

  “In a way,” I say, choosing my words. I can practically feel the nerve endings pinballing back and forth in my head. My only hope is that all the frenetic neuron activity, combined with my failed attempts to shove the images away, has seriously scuttled my abilities to even get close to reading these cards accurately. I’m basically hoping everything I’ve seen, on the table and inside my brain, is completely wrong.

  All I can think about is finishing the reading and getting Rena away from me and out of the store as quickly as possible.

  The best response I can manage is “Yes, this card shows you’re under considerable stress in your current situation.”

  “No shit,” she says, flicking off a long ash of the incense stick burning in the holder. Instead of dropping into the base below, the ash blows across my table. I brush it away with my palm and continue.

  “Finally, this card, the Six of Swords—”

  “Well, at least that one’s facing the right direction,” Rena says, chuckling.

  “Yes. This card usually means a move away from something, maybe a trip by or to water?”

  She gasps and puts her hand over her open mouth. “Oh my God, that’s fucking fantastic. I was talking to Louis—he’s my boyfriend—about moving to California. He’s getting a big-time promotion there. We want to get a place by the ocean.”

  I’m about to tell her that another interpretation of the Six of Swords is that there will be a transition as a result of a decision made, and to get clarity, she might need to let something go. At that moment a picture of Stephanie blazes through my brain and I can’t tell whether it’s a vision or a true recollection. It’s her hugging that stuffed toy and waving goodbye to me (perhaps at the airport?). I know then that it’s not a thing Rena might be off-loading. It’s her daughter.

  My mouth begins to fill with saliva. Except it’s not normal saliva. It’s salty and briny-tasting. I swallow, but it keeps coming back, and then I remember: it’s the exact same reaction I had after I sat next to Rena and Stephanie on the flight from Philly to Phoenix.

  It won’t stop. Every time I swallow, my mouth fills again. In between gulps, I tell Rena there’s nothing more I can see from the cards and that our time’s up.

  She looks at her watch and says, “But it’s only been forty minutes. I thought this was supposed to last an hour.”

  I swallow again and stand to lead her to the front. “I’ll ask Mindi to give you a ten percent discount on any purchase you make today.”

  “Fine, I guess,” she mutters, as she walks to the cash register and starts to look at some of the leather necklaces hanging there.

  Racing to the bathroom, I throw up in the sink, big rushes of salty water. I keep the faucet running so, hopefully, I can’t be heard. After three more times of vomiting liquid, the extra saliva finally starts to dissipate. I turn off the faucet and run back, just in time to see Rena opening the door to leave.

  “Wait, Rena. I wanted to get your email or phone number or whatever. I’ll be doing a group reading in Phoenix very soon and thought you might want to attend.” Taking a piece of paper and a pen from the counter, I hand them to her. She stares at me for a beat but then writes down her contact information.

  44

  Rena

  Susan is royally pissed.

  She’s standing in the doorway with her hand on her hip. Stephanie and the trash bag with her things are next to her. I ask Louis to wait in the car.

  I get within three feet of her and she spits out, “I cannot believe you are this late. I thought you said you’d be here to pick up Stephanie this morning, and here it is . . .” She looks at her watch. “. . . past nine o’clock. On a school night. I couldn’t get Felicia to sleep because Stephanie is still here, and frankly, your little girl is exhausted from staying up and waiting for you.”

  Stephanie is standing close to Susan, holding a piece of her robe in her hand.

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late. We hit a bunch of traffic. And a terrible accident on the way down.” I’m almost out of lies, and still, Susan’s face is like a damn igloo.

  She looks down at Stephanie and says, “Honey, why don’t you go up and see whether Felicia is all ready for bed, okay? Maybe you and she can read a book together under the covers?”

  My daughter runs up the stairs. Susan still hasn’t asked me to come into the house.

  “What I can’t understand is why you didn’t return any of my calls,” she says through her teeth. “What if something had been wrong with your daughter?”

  “Why—was there something going on with Stephanie?”

  I guess this isn’t exactly the right thing to say, because Susan gets very red in the face and snaps at me, “She’s your child, Rena. Seriously, I’m shocked you didn’t at least want to check on her, even once, during the time you were gone. Especially since she was just in the hospital.”

  I’m about fed up with this holier-than-thou shit.

  “You know what? Maybe you should mind your own fucking business,” I shout. I see a porch light go on at the neighbor’s house to the right, which is pretty surprising since the houses here are so far apart. How can they possibly hear what’s going on? I guess nosiness is common in this part of town. I look back at Louis’s car. I’m glad to see his windows are still closed up.

  I can tell Susan is trying really hard to control herself. She’s taking deep breaths and opening and shutting her fingers.

  “You’re right. It is none of my business, Rena. I’ll tell you this, though, Stephanie seems troubled. She cried in her sleep both nights. And then this morning, when I was packing up her things to go home, she started crying again and telling me she didn’t want to leave. She said she wanted to stay with us.”

  “I’m sure she did. It’s like a goddamn palace here,” I say. “She doesn’t have all kinds of cool toys at home like I’m sure your precious Felicia does.” Louis honks, rolls down the window, shouts at me we have to get going, and then rolls the window back up.

  Susan sighs like she’s so annoyed with me she can’t stand having my face in front
of her for even another second.

  “It’s not that. It’s not the toys or our house. It’s . . . it’s how she jumped the first few times I tried to touch her. Eventually, she let me hug her, but I could still feel her shaking. And the food thing. She was begging to try Felicia’s waffles. Finally, I gave her some. Just a little. And she was fine. No stomach upset. Not even nausea. I kept asking her, and she kept saying no, that the waffles were so yummy and could she have them again at lunch?” She stares at me and then says, “I can’t help feeling something is not right.”

  I poke my head around her and yell, “Stephanie, let’s go. Right now.” She shuffles slowly out of Felicia’s room and looks down at me from the second-floor railing.

  “I said, right now.”

  She makes her way down the steps, stopping on each for a few seconds, until she finally reaches Susan. Susan puts a hand on Stephanie’s shoulder, and my daughter leans into her, hiding her face in the fluffy, white robe.

  Susan says, “It’s okay. Your mommy’s here for you now.” She bends down to hug her. Handing me the trash bag, Susan says, “I take the care of children very seriously, Rena. I want you to know that.” She shuts the door. Bitch.

  I grab Stephanie by the hand and walk her to the car.

  After I buckle her into the back seat, I say, “Louis, this is my daughter, Stephanie.”

  He turns around in his seat and says, “Hi, Stephanie. Did you have a good time at your sleepover?”

  She doesn’t say anything, just stares out the window.

  “Stephanie, sweetie, please answer Louis’s question.”

  “That’s okay. My kids were really shy at that age too.”

  Stephanie sticks her thumb in her mouth, something she hasn’t done since she was a year old.

  I tell Louis he can drop us off at the drugstore. He offers to take us to my place but I really don’t want him to see where I live and I can tell he wants to get home. When we get to the drugstore, Louis lifts my suitcase from the trunk.

  I kneel down next to Stephanie and give her a big hug.

  “Mommy missed you so much. I hated being away from you. Did you have fun playing with Felicia? She has a lot of neat toys, doesn’t she?” I reach up and gently remove her thumb from her mouth, but she immediately pops it back in.

  “Poor little thing. She looks pooped,” Louis says.

  “Yeah, it’s way past nighty night, isn’t it, Stephie? We should get you ready for bed. I’ll read you your favorite story, the one with the unicorns, okay?”

  Stephanie just stands there, sucking her thumb, with this dumb look on her face.

  “Tell Louis bye, okay?”

  She whispers, “Bye.”

  I give him a big kiss on the lips and say, “Thanks for an awesome time.”

  Once he gets in the car and drives away, I take Stephanie’s hand and pull her down the block, rolling the suitcase behind us.

  When we get to our place, there’s a note taped to the door.

  See me right away.

  There’s a message for you.

  Graciella Lupito

  Jesus Christ. Whatever that bitch has to tell me will just have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I have other things to deal with.

  “Stephanie, into the house. Now.”

  45

  Claire

  As the door closes behind Rena, my knees are so rubbery I grab one of the merchandise shelves for support. I’m shaking, and all the Buddhas begin to jiggle and dance across the surface.

  Mindi comes to me and says, “Claire, what is it? Did she say something to upset you?” She takes me by the hand, as if I’m a lost child in a department store, and gently pushes me onto the stool by the register.

  Walking to the front door and flipping the sign to CLOSED. PLEASE COME BACK TOMORROW, she asks, “What’s with that client anyway? I picked up a weird energy from her when she was buying one of the necklaces.”

  “A weird energy?” Now I have chills and everything around me feels muffled and slow. It’s as if I’m hearing Mindi’s voice through layers of ice cream.

  “Claire?” Suddenly, everything clears, and I jump because she’s yelling my name.

  “What? Why are you yelling? Stop yelling. It’s making my head hurt,” I say, rubbing my temples, which are throbbing rhythmically.

  “Listen, I’m driving you home, and then I’ll come back and take your final two clients of the day. You need to rest. In fact, maybe you need to take another week off.” I wave my hands at her and start to tell her no, but she says, “Not a request. You are taking more time off.”

  I’m huddled in the corner of the couch with the lights off when Cal opens the door, carrying his textbooks.

  “How was class?” I ask.

  He slams his hand on the side of the wall and lunges for the umbrella in the bucket by the door.

  “Geez, Claire, nice way to give a guy a heart attack. And why are you sitting in the dark?”

  “It’s been a strange day. Sorry I scared you,” I say.

  “What happened?” he asks. Walking through the room, he turns on the light on the side table and the standing pole lamp, which splay pools of yellow on the rug. Throwing the couch pillows to the floor, he sits next to me.

  I say, “I didn’t tell you something before because, frankly, I didn’t even remember it again until today.”

  “What’s wrong? Something at work?”

  “Hang on. I need to explain what happened before, because I think there’s a connection to today, but I have no idea what to make of it.”

  “Sounds confusing . . . and intriguing.”

  “On the flight back to Phoenix after Dad died, there was a woman who sat in my row with her daughter. There was something off about both of them, but I didn’t know what it was. Besides, I was a mess then with my own stuff, not exactly thinking straight.”

  Cal nods but remains silent, and I can imagine him as the psychologist he’ll one day be. Patient and gentle. Someone easy to talk to.

  “Her kid, Stephanie, seemed so . . . I don’t know . . . lost. It’s hard to explain, but I could sense even through my own misery that she was in pain.”

  “How old and what kind of pain?”

  Stephanie’s face comes back to me then. That pinched look, like she was on high alert, watchful and nervous.

  “I don’t know. She was so little. I think she told me four, but she was definitely a small four. It was like she was burdened somehow, like she had more stress on her than any kid should. The mom told me her little girl was sick and that they were going to Phoenix to see a new doctor.” I shook my head. “But it’s what happened after the plane landed that freaked me out.” I swing my legs over his lap.

  Cal rubs his hand up and down my calf. “What was that?”

  I tell him about the salty water that kept filling my mouth and that I had to run to the ladies’ room to keep spitting it out until it finally stopped.

  “What? That’s crazy,” says Cal, and I make a mental note to remind him not to use that particular word with future patients.

  “Today, this same woman, Rena, comes to the store for a reading. I gave her my information on the plane, and one of my clients happened to cancel so I had time to see her.”

  “How was the reading?”

  “Very strange. On the plane, she wanted to know all about medical intuitives, a psychic who could evaluate Stephanie’s condition, but you know what? She didn’t even bring Stephanie with her today and never asked me one question about her illness in the reading. I was the one to bring it up.”

  Unwinding himself, Cal walks to the kitchen and returns with two cold beers, caps off.

  I take a long swallow. It’s refreshing, and I can feel the tension in parts of my body start to loosen.

  Sitting back down, Cal takes a swig and asks, “So, what’s the problem? This weird woman comes to see you but doesn’t ask you about her child?”

  I vividly remember Rena’s cards and can still feel the absoluteness
of the conclusions I made in the reading.

  It’s too awful to say, but I do anyway. “Cal, I think Rena is hurting Stephanie.”

  “What? That’s a pretty strong accusation.”

  “I realize that, but the cards—”

  “You’re saying the cards told you this?” He raises his eyebrows.

  “But—” I start.

  “Oz, I know you’ve recently had some amazing readings, in and out of the store, but now you’re getting into dangerous territory here.”

  “But, the cards were so . . . definitive. Except it wasn’t just that. I had visions too, bizarre but very clear visions.”

  “Of what?” Cal asks, taking another sip of beer.

  The image of Rena standing above and over her tiny daughter flashes back and again, the sense of malevolence strikes me violently. My head feels like I pounded it against concrete, and there’s a cramp in my stomach that causes me to double over in pain. The same salty liquid fills my mouth, and I have to keep swallowing.

  “Claire? Ozzie? What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” I moan, as sweat drips down the sides of my face. Cal leaps up and returns with a wet kitchen towel, which he presses to my forehead.

  The liquid dissipates, and slowly, the pains in my head and stomach go away.

  When I can finally speak, I say, “I don’t know what that was, but I think somebody or something is definitely trying to get my attention.”

  Cal’s a good listener, but I know it’s my mother I need to talk to.

  I leave a voice mail, and she calls me back within minutes.

  “Sorry I missed you. What’s up, honey?” she asks.

  I tell her about the cards and Rena, how they indicated Rena was mentally unbalanced and seemed to predict her child is being or will be harmed in some way. I describe how my visions coincided with and supported the cards, and the horror they foretold. I tell her about the final card, the one forecasting a trip, maybe to the ocean, and how thrilled Rena was because she might be moving to California with her new boyfriend.