Amber Laura's Blog, page 11

North of Happenstance: Chapter Four

Madame Penny asked for compete silence from Kate. The best way to channel the universe, as she dubbed it, was to meditate, to clear the mind of any blockage, let go of any worries, knowing they would be intercepted by a higher power. From somewhere near her feet, Penny pressed the Play button on a CD player, the soft strains of some string instrument filling the room.

“Close your eyes,” Madame Penny whispered, “and picture yourself swimming in a lake. There are no waves, no ripples. It’s clear as glass. The sun is high up in the sky and the warmth of it touches the tops of your shoulders. It’s peaceful and relaxing. Picture this moment,” she repeated.

Kate let out a deep sigh and did as she was bidden.

“Now, imagine yourself swimming from one end of the lake to the other. You feel your right arm lift out of the water, rotate forward, and then delve back underneath the silky depths. Your body sways with the action. You breathe out. Then your left arm lifts up toward the sky, following the same motion. Do you feel the movements of your body? You are not tired, nor are you stressed. It’s rhythmic and as natural as breathing. Keep picturing this movement: your right arm strokes against the water and just as it submerges back downward, the left arm copies its predecessor, sweeping and descending against the current you are creating. Over and over. Over and over.”

Kate felt her breathing slow. Her arms, where they rested on her lap, felt heavy, her feet cemented to the ground as her whole concentration focused on this scene, with only the lyrical undulation of Madame Penny’s voice keeping her steadily on point, keeping her from…. Kate yawned. It was keeping her from—blinking heavily, Kate’s lids drooped, her attention foggy, confused.

Her eyes closed; this time they didn’t reopen.

Madame Penny watched in quiet amusement as Kate slowly feel asleep, her body gradually hunching forward, her neck falling forward until her chin rested against her collarbone; the poor girl was dead to the world, she thought, stifling a laugh. It was too bad really, because Penny had just been about to get to the best part of her visualization technique: Kate was nearing the end of her swim, the conclusion of which would have brought her to a quiet beach where she could lay out in the sun.

It wasn’t all together uncommon for clients to fall asleep during meditation. It took practice to keep the mind and body suspended over a state of quiet consciousness. Although for a woman like Kate, who seemed fixated on the idea of being in control, always in command of herself and her surroundings, it was rather surprising. Shrugging, Madame Penny continued to shuffle the cards in her hands. Perhaps Kate needed the rest, she considered. If that were the case, she’d let her go on dreaming for a little while longer.

 

Something was shining against her eyes. Kate made a soft sound her in her throat and made to turn her head away from the offending light. Just as the thought penetrated, another disruption invaded her senses: the soft pitter-patter of feet moving across the wooden floorboards underneath.

Eyes fluttering open, the first thing Kate saw was a tabletop. It was currently cradling her head where it laid, her cheek pressed up against her crossed arms. It wasn’t Kate’s table. Remaining there for a moment, confusion flooded Kate’s senses. Where was she?

The sudden ping of a metallic lock pushing into place reminded her that, where ever it was, she wasn’t alone. Jerking upward, back into a seated position, Kate’s eyes frantically followed the noise, seeking out its source. They landed on none other than Madame Penny, who’d half-turned at the commotion of Kate’s awakening, her hands pressed up against the filing cabinet.

“What?” Kate asked disoriented, clearly unprepared for such a sight. “What am I—what?”

“You feel asleep during the reading,” Madame Penny filled in, coming back to the table to sit opposite of her.

“Reading?” Kate asked, still out of it.

“That’s it,” Penny confirmed matter-of-factly.

When that didn’t clear up the expression on Kate’s face, Penny continued: “Don’t you remember? You must be really out of it.” She chuckled. “I saw you outside my window? You came in for a tarot card reading” she prompted, stressing the last word pointedly. “We were just in the middle of a meditation activity…any of this ringing a bell?”

And then Kate did remember. She’d been swimming in a lake—her arms propelling her body, back and forth. “I feel asleep?”

“Like a newborn baby,” Penny told her, her tone laced with humor.

“What time is it?” Kate asked instinctively. Translation: how long had she been out for the count?

“It’s a little after three,” Penny supplied. Translation: for almost two hours.

Kate felt her cheeks redden as waves of embarrassment washed over her. She couldn’t believe she’d done that! To a stranger. Well, maybe not a stranger, but close enough. Kate had barely been able to go to sleepovers, even as a teenager, thanks to serve bouts of homesickness yet here she was now, caught taking a catnap—in a professional arena no less—just as though it were no big thing. What the hell was wrong with her?

“I am so sorry,” she began to say, shoveling her hair over her shoulder, completely without regard to order or neatness.

“No apologizes necessary,” Penny assured her.

“I guess I was more tired than I thought.” Kate tried to sound glib in an effort to salvage some of her pride, to mask her deep mortification. It didn’t work. “I haven’t been sleeping very well.” Snapping her mouth shut, Kate decided that was probably more information than she needed to divulge, and to Madame Penny of all people.

“I thought as much,” Madame Penny said knowingly. At Kate’s curious look, she went on: “You have circles under your eyes…plus your carriage seemed weighted when you first arrived,” she said bluntly. “Mediation sweeps the mind of its overriding anxieties and stressors. Yours was so exhausted from this detoxification it shutdown completely, reveling in the coveted and obviously unaccustomed state of an easeful and tranquil slumber.”

Pinned down by the blueness of those eyes, Kate knew she had been right in her phobia of over-sharing with this woman. Madame Penny had that look on her face, the same one she’d worn the other day at the coffee shop, like she smelled a story.

“I’m not sure about all of that. Probably I just need to get acclimated to the new house, new area—different sounds and stuff like that,” Kate said, purposefully vague.

“It can be difficult, I imagine, venturing out and starting a new life,” Madame Penny mused, her eyes steady on Kate’s averted gaze. “But know this, just because you chose to ignore something doesn’t mean it’s not still there, in your mind. It doesn’t mean you aren’t thinking about it. Consciously or unconsciously, awake or otherwise,” she added meaningfully.

“It was one nightmare,” Kate blurted out. Immediately, she regretted the words, her lapse in silence at Penny’s provocation.

“Want to talk about it?” Madame Penny asked. There was no mistaking the triumph in her posture. She’d hoped to make Kate crack and she’d succeeded.

“If I wanted to talk about it I’d have done so already,” Kate snapped, feeling a bit like a caged animal. Maybe she’d have been better off just going home earlier.

“All right, all right, I won’t push.”

“Too late for that,” Kate whispered loudly. Madame Penny said nothing in response. She knew better. She’d gotten a reaction out of Kate and, for the time being, that was good enough for her.

“Well, since you’re up would you like to know what I discovered from the reading?” She asked, changing the topic without qualm.

“You were still able to do that, even while I was, you know?” Kate insinuated, diverted from her earlier resolve at this newfound information. She’d have figured Madame Penny stopped at the sound of her snoring.

“Well, yes of course. Your presence is only superficial in matters such as these. The universe knew what you needed to hear, what questions you sought answers to, long before your head hit the table,” she assured her amusedly.

“Oh,” Kate said stupidly. She wasn’t sure what else to say. It was one thing to agree to have a reading performed, but it was quite another to sit by quietly by while someone told her what her future held—Kate’s freewill notwithstanding.

Madame Penny quickly rose to her feet and twisting a little to one side, with the pinch of her finger, opened the filing cabinet once more. Reaching inside its depth, her hand scuffled around for a moment before presenting the pack of cards. It felt a little like déjà vu to Kate. Hadn’t they done this before?

“I thought you already did the reading?” Kate asked, speaking her thoughts aloud.

“I did.”

“Then why are you taking those out again?” Kate asked, gesturing toward the deck in Penny’s hand.

“I’m not going to reshuffle them, if that’s what you mean. No, no. It’s redundant to do the same reading twice,” Penny said absently.

Kate blinked, more confused than when she’d originally asked the question. Reshuffle them? Do another reading? What?

As she was ought to do, Penny seemed to sense Kate’s consternation, saying further: “I just thought you’d like to see the cards I’d pulled—that’s why I brought them back out,” she clarified. “Sometimes the physical existence of them, their tangible message, is easier to comprehend then the mere mention of them.”

“Oh.”

“I only put them away so you wouldn’t knock them over in your, um, state of slumber,” she said, her hands deftly laying out the top three cards from the pile.

“I did a traditional three card layout—it’s a general reading focusing on where you’ve been, where it’s lead you, and where you’re still headed,” Madame Penny continued, her voice brisk but educational. Slowly she turned the cards, one by one, face up.

Kate looked down. Checking the impulse against knee-jerk deprecation, instead she allowed her eyes to thoroughly scan each one, her attention sober and intent as she processed the images, and their representing notations, shown before her.

They read as follows:

Past: Death

Present: the Hermit

Future: the Sun

“Now don’t be alarmed by what you see here,” Penny warned, her fingernail tapping against the first of these symbolic articles. “The Death Card is often mistaken—it does not imply a physical loss, rather an end to something previously known. It’s placement in your past intimates a recent change in your life’s purpose…though I suppose one doesn’t need to be psychic to have realized that,” she added dryly.

Penny continued: “This is usually a hard transition, because the Death Card is accompanied by a simultaneous fear of the unfamiliar yet a constant urge to find something different. But know that it’s inclusion here—in your past—is deliberate, telling you that you made the right decision, warning you not to go back to that idea, that place-in-time….”

Kate hardly heard Madame Penny; she hardly thought to listen, the psychic’s voice drowned out by Kate’s own inner-musings, her own personal discernment. Kate knew what each card meant; she didn’t need their significance interpreted by an outsider. And with that knowledge came a sense of release, of peacefulness that even the meditation hadn’t quite accomplished.

Her life wasn’t over, rather reincarnated. She was no longer a part of her past. It was gone, done, over. Brighter days were ahead, and when she finally decided to come out of reclusion—when she finally healed herself—the sun would be there ready to kiss her in welcome.

 

 

 

Twenty minutes later, as Kate was walking up to her front door, having just left Madame Penny’s House of Intuition, she was surprised to find a woman standing under her covered porch, waiting patiently it seemed for just such an arrival. She wasn’t a woman Kate had ever met before, but Kate figured she was getting used to that—Whestleigh wasn’t shy when it came to strangers. The woman appeared to be holding a baked goody of some kind in her hand, if the plastic wrap covering the disposable dish was anything to go by.

“Hello,” Kate said, as she mounted the steps to stand beside her.

The woman smiled in greeting. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties. “Hello. My name is Anne Ganthy. I live just two houses down,” she said, pointing down the street. The home, an off-white clapboard cottage, was small but quaint, the grounds immaculately trimmed, yet overflowing with flowers.  “Anyway, I-I stopped over to say: welcome to the neighborhood!” she added awkwardly, the enthusiasm slightly false. With that she thrust the pan, which Kate could now see held chocolate cake of some kind, into Kate’s unsuspecting hands.

“Oh, well, thank you! I’m Kate McDonald,” Kate supplied, fumbling the aluminum sheet to her left hand. Holding out her right, which was quickly grasped and shaken, she smiled in return.

“I wanted to come over the other day but I saw you had, er, company,” that lady said. There was something in the way she said that last bit which unnerved Kate.

“Well, this was awfully kind of you,” she responded instead, deciding to let the comment pass unquestioned. Reaching inside her pocket, she carefully retrieved her keys. Inserting them into the keyhole, all the while balancing her cake, Kate clumsily undid the lock.

“Please forgive my tardiness in making your acquaintance,” Anne started in again, apparently not to be put-off. “Let me assure you, all of us on Eveleth Ave are anxious to meet you. I wouldn’t want you to think our little community was unfriendly.” She trilled in laughter at this small joke.

“How could I think anything of the sort?” Kate asked, feeling oddly comforted by the sentiment behind this woman’s visit. She’d heard of such concepts as welcoming committees before, but in her estimation it had always measured up to nothing more than folk lore. Apparently it was actually a thing. “This whole town has been nothing but inviting and gracious since I’ve moved here. It’s been, well, really uplifting for someone new to the area.”

Anne frowned a little of the words. “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but…Listen, you do want to be discreet within your, er, associations. The people around here, well they can get to talking…. That is to say, Whestleigh prides itself on the reputation of the society it keeps,” she explained rather obtusely.

Kate felt her head tilt a little to one side at the words. They sounded ominous, and ironically, a little less than friendly. “Excuse me?” she asked then, and to someone who knew her well, it was done so icily.

“Well that psychic woman, what’s her name?”

“Madame Penny,” Kate offered, though she doubted the woman’s name actually eluded Anne.

“Yes, well, I saw the two of you chatting the other day, and I happen to know she was over here the other night. If I were you I’d be careful of being seen together too frequently. She’s not made much of a name for herself around here, if you catch my drift. Frankly, she’s considered: weird, peculiar, an outcast,” she said exhaustively, waving her hand in the air expressively. “I’m merely trying to offer up some helpful advice. After all, you only get one chance to make a first impression. Just what kind of impression are you hoping to leave on our townsfolk? You seem like a nice, respectable young woman, that’s all I’m saying.”

Kate felt her mouth drop open. She couldn’t believe she’d just heard all of that nonsense. She wasn’t sure where the energy came from. She wasn’t even entirely sure she was upset on Penny’s behalf. She was weird and peculiar and those were traits Kate didn’t think the psychic found all that insulting. Rather it was the way that Anne had said it, with such scathing holier-than-thou judgment that did Kate in. If Kate didn’t know any better, she’d swear she was talking to her own mother.

Swap out Anne’s dark brown hair for a blonde coif and change her slacks for a couture skirt with a silk blouse and they could be dead-ringers for one another. Kate couldn’t count the number of times she’d come home to find her mother waiting in the kitchen, her fingers tapping against the jut of her hipbone, her mouth turned downward. This scene always precluded the onslaught of a lecture. Lectures about Kate’s daily choices and opinions, almost all of which her mother found fault within. Lectures which Kate knew as the only mother-daughter bonding offered in her household.

Her mother—the great Calida McDonald—would wonder why in the world her eight year old daughter had decided to play football with the Douglass brothers, who lived down the block. Hadn’t she been brought up like a proper young lady? And why, when she was in the seventh grade, had her only child thought it would be a good idea to visit the planetarium instead of the Manuscript Library? Where was her culture, her class? And how about the time that Kate had befriended the Larson girl from her geometry class? She’d been picked on at school for her wardrobe choices. Kate had taken her shopping. Calida had damn near burst in half when she found out just who Kate was seen with—an inferior little girl of no-stock.

Kate had always bowed down to her mother. She’d loved that split second after these go-rounds when Calida would smile lovingly, pat Kate on the shoulder (sometimes even bring her in for a hug), explaining that she was only trying to protect her daughter and Kate would understand one of these days just how much. She’d go on to say how proud she was when Kate inevitably collapsed to her bidding. She had a truly wonderful daughter, didn’t she?

She sincerely doubted her mother was saying anything of the sort nowadays, but she supposed she didn’t really know, did she? Kate had never gotten up the nerve, even at twenty-eight years of age, to tell her mother ‘no.’ She’d never challenged her, forced her voice into existence, she’d never been able to argue that what Calida wanted and what Kate wanted were not the same thing. She’d just run away, escaped into the night. But she was done with that. Here. Now.

Kate felt her hand curl around the doorknob. “I suppose you’re right. It is of great consequence with whom I chose to fraternize.” She gave Anne a saccharine smile, a disguise to hide the blow of her next words. “Which is why I’ll kindly ask you to leave. Right now.”

Anne’s noisily indrawn breath was as far as Kate allowed her to get in retort.

“I will not be bullied, coerced or shamed into this arbitrary and antiquated format for propriety and social suitability, especially by a woman whose nerve is such to speak to a veritable stranger in this manner.”

With that, Kate felt her wrist twist, the knob turning over in her hand. Tucking the cake against her elbow, because she refused to give it back to the conniving woman, Kate pushed the door open. Striding over the threshold she spared Anne, standing, shocked, her mouth contorted in stupefaction, one last glance before promptly swinging the door shut once again.

Breath coming out rapidly, knee’s wobbling uncertainly, adrenaline taking over, Kate stumbled backward, her body sagging thankfully against the door she’d only just closed behind herself. Safely protected from the piranha outside by its secure bulk, nonetheless, she could still hear Anne talking quietly to herself as she made to exit Kate’s property, muttering something about how she’d never been treated so poorly in her life and what was this world coming to?        Kate had shut the door on that woman’s face. Feeling the force of this realization with wonder, Kate corrected this statement. No, she’d slammed the door on that woman’s face. And it had felt kind of good. It had felt amazing.

This same foreign state of impulsiveness encouraged Kate to take her phone out of the back pocket of her pants, along with the business card Madame Penny had given Kate at the end of their session together, the psychic’s office number boldly printed across its glossy length. Without thought, Kate punched its numeric sequence into her keypad and hit the call button. Putting the phone up to her ear she waited for the line to be picked up on the other end.

“Hello?” Kate heard after the third ring.

She didn’t need further encouragement. “The nightmare I had, it was about my ex-fiancé. But that’s all I want to say on the matter,” Kate said breathlessly, “I-I don’t believe in dream interpretations, I’ve never bought into the idea that they are the windows to our souls, so please don’t go there.”

“Okay,” Madame Penny said, sounding out the word slowly, probably unsure what to say in reaction to this preamble-less confession.

Kate felt the sigh that expulsed out her mouth intensely. “I’m not even sure why I’m telling you this,” she admitted, the emotion which had buoyed her into making the call having suddenly abandoned her.

“Sometimes the simple act of admitting to something relieves you of its power, its hold over you,” Madame Penny offered in answer.

“Yeah, maybe,” Kate said, chewing on the bottom of her lip—a habit her mother had spent many years trying to break her from.

The line remained silent for a beat.

“Was there anything else you didn’t want to talk about?” Madame Penny asked, the slightest note of amusement trailing the question.

Actually there was, Kate thought, her confrontation with Anne only too fresh in her mind. “Someone dropped a dessert off at my place tonight, a sort of housewarming gift I guess.”

“Yes?” Madame Penny prompted when Kate stopped there.

Kate cleared her throat, unused to the sensation of vulnerability rushing through her. “Well, how do you feel about chocolate cake?”

“Are you offering?” Penny returned eloquently.

“Yes.”

Madame Penny smiled softly, the dim light coming off a table lamp casting a pink glow around her closet-cum-office, making it look almost beautiful. “In that case, I love it.”

 

 

North of Happenstance: Chapter Three

Kate figured it would be hard to get lost in Whestleigh, Connecticut. Not only was the town set up in a grid pattern formation, the Avenues numbered one through ten accordingly and the Streets arranged alphabetically, but the main shops and stores were all located in the same general area: on Gadbee Street. This was particularly nice for Kate who lived on Eveleth Street—a mere two blocks away. Besides school, she figured her car would probably spend the majority of its life in her garage from now on.

Pocketing her house keys, throwing her purse over her shoulder, Kate stepped outside. Turning left down the sidewalk she considered that it was a great day for a walk. She forcibly repeated that sentiment when, ten minutes later, she realized she’d gone the wrong way. Kate shrugged; she’d always been a bit directionally challenged. Reversing her steps, refusing to let this detour get the better of her, Kate firmly reminded herself that if nothing else this had given her the chance to see a bit more of the town. How could that be a bad thing?

Finally reaching her destination, this time Kate had no trouble identifying the cause of her trip into town: The LitLiber Bookstore. This was probably partly due to the fact that she’d been there previously, and to it’s being rather hard to miss. The structure stood proudly on the corner of 2nd street. And it looked imposing there: the red-washed brick exterior, accented here and there with white plaster molding and honey-colored stucco, seemed only too grand for its otherwise demure setting. The bridal shop next door looked downright dowdy in comparison, its vinyl siding and modest window settings sparse.

Not entirely surprising then, the bookstore was busy when Kate walked inside. Bemused she stood for a moment, watching as harried cashier’s busily rang up orders, customer service agents zipped up and down the aisles—some three customers deep—shoppers milled in small groups discussing the newest releases, some waiting to be helped, others content to search through the masses of titles alone.

Still, despite the hustle and bustle, the building remained quaint. Darkly stained pine bookshelves lined the building in myriad of patterns. Even at a quick glance, they appeared to be handmade. There must be a woodworker in town, she supposed. The wainscoted walls, half wood-paneling and half wallpaper, the latter designed in muted yellow geometric designs, created a look both airy and warm. Not to mention, it allowed for the addition of eclectic pieces of furniture smattered about—a mismatched arrangements of recliners, couches, loveseats and table ends all of different origin and décor.

As she walked further inside, toward the small café nestled in the back nearest the Customer Service Desk, Kate overheard two staff members talking, catching a snatched moment alone together:

“…we’re so understaffed right now it’s ridiculous! Look at this place. We can hardly keep up!”

The other girl snorted in agreement. “And we’re running out of everything! A lady nearly threw a temper tantrum yesterday when I told her we’d sold out of the book she was looking for—like it was personally my fault.”

“It doesn’t help any that school is starting up next week. Why does everyone wait until the last minute to buy their books?”

“Beats me.”

The first girl rolled her eyes. “And if one more person asks me ‘where do I find the Self-Help section?’ I’m going to scream! Find it yourself, isn’t that the point? ….”

Carefully circumventing this conversation, Kate reconsidered her options. Asking for help was now out of the question. Turning on her hell, she pulled her school syllabus out of her purse. Shielding it against the palm of her hand, she bent her head determinedly over the list of ‘required course readings’ while purposefully steering her feet toward the section marked Academic. She was an independent woman; surely she could find the books on her own. Plus she was far too proud to admit defeat after hearing all of that. She would not be counted amongst those self-helpless customers.

It took nearly an hour, but at length Kate made her way up to the checkout counter, all necessary purchases held and accounted for. She wasn’t sure who organized the shelves in that building but they needed a serious talking-to, because nothing about it had made sense. Her History of Art book had been sidled next to her Romantic Literature text, while The Works of Shakespeare sat, buried beneath an array of Chemistry titles.

Kate paid for her items, adding a last minute tote bag to the lot as she handed over her credit card; if she was going to walk these back to her house, she wasn’t going to trust their weigh in some paper bag. Scrawling her name across the transaction slip, Kate hastily threw her purchases inside the bag before slinging it across her shoulder and leaving her place in the line. The woman waiting impatiently behind her had been nosily tapping her foot against the floor all the while, the click-clack an angry tattoo, as though annoyed Kate had dared stand in front of her.

Pausing in the shop’s entrance hall, partly to gain her bearings and partly to readjust the tote bag’s position—it was already rubbing funny against her clavicle—Kate had a sinking suspicion that even the two blocks home were going to be tiring with this load. At least her purse was lightweight. On second thought, her car may not become as superfluous as she’d originally hoped.

Absently, her eyes landed on a large bulletin board hung up against one wall, its space filled to overflowing with advertisements, business cards, For Sale signs, and one lone picture of a lost cat. It was so cluttered she wondered how someone could possibly wade through the overload of information, how unlikely it was they’d actually find what they wanted—better luck scrolling through the yellow pages, or Google, at that rate. Chucking mindlessly at the thought, she braced her hand against the doorframe and pushed it open…

It was half a block down from LitLiber, on the left-hand side of the road, when Kate saw it. A small sign nailed just above an otherwise nondescript window. The cursive writing was hardly legible from where Kate stood but she was almost sure it read: Madame Penny’s House of Intuition. Crossing the street, Kate called herself ten times a fool, but still she couldn’t seem to stop herself from getting a closer look. Her curiosity piqued, she supposed she hadn’t actually considered Madame Penny’s business being so, well, viable…so brick-and-mortar accessible. But if that sign, and the small flicker of light illuminated from the edges of the window blinds was anything to go by, she figured wrong. Madame Penny was a professional, through-and-through.

Coming up beside the window, Kate couldn’t quite fight an urge to take a quick peep inside. She had visions of velvet covered tables, darkened walls hung with heavy drapery, shelves filled with vases and jars containing herbs, essential oils, pearls and gems, yada yada yada. Laying center mass of it all would be a book of incantations, tea leaves, maybe even a crystal ball, eerily reflected in the shadows of some gilt-framed mirror or something. Circling the perimeter of this would be candles. Fat ones, tall ones, skinny ones, half-melted ones…it didn’t matter just as long as there were copious amounts of candles.

Unfortunately, when she turned to look, all that met her eyes were shadows. The window shade was pulled almost completely shut, with only an inch separating it from the bottom sill. Squinting her eyes, tilting her head, Kate struggled to make out the surroundings. She thought she spotted a table sitting beside one of the walls, and what was that particular shadow to the left? Pressing her nose up against the glass, she peered harder but when the shadow moved suddenly, Kate’s head whipped backward so hard it jarred her teeth. A small shriek may have escaped her mouth, as well. Too late, she realized that what she’d just made out was the silhouette of Madame Penny herself.

Quickly pushing herself away from the building, Kate made to retreat. She wasn’t sure if she was more embarrassed at the possibility of being caught snooping, or just afraid Madame Penny would get the wrong idea about Kate’s intentions. Frankly, she didn’t believe in psychic visions—or whatever they called it. And, it’s not that Kate didn’t like the woman, she didn’t know her well enough to carve out an opinion, but Madame Penny came off a little strong and, well, eccentric. To say the least.

Kate had gained about two feet when the crack of a side door swinging open announced someone’s presence outside. More specifically, it announced Madame Penny’s presence, judging by the musical twinkle of bangles accompanying the matter.

“Kate?” Yup. That definitely sounded like Madame Penny.

Stalling out, Kate stopped. Her back to the other woman, she carefully rearranged her facial expression before turning in greeting. Madame Penny was almost on her by then, her hand reaching out to grab Kate’s elbow in her rush of reception. “I thought that was you peeking through the windows,” she said enthusiastically, just as Kate had feared.

“Oh, yeah, I was just looking around at the local shops,” she muttered inanely, hitching her shoulder a little over the words. “Trying to get the lay of the land, so to speak.” She wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Well, in that case come inside, let me give you the grand tour,” Penny said, gesturing toward the door she’d just exited.

Kate shook her head ‘no’ even while she felt her body pulled in that direction. “Oh, no. I don’t want to bother you….”

“It’s no bother at all. Come inside. I’ve got coffee on. Or tea, if you’d rather,” she insisted, all but pushing Kate’s reluctant body through the narrow entrance.

“Well, all right. But I can only stay for a minute,” Kate heard herself concede. There was really nothing else to say. She was already inside the building, and besides Madame Penny’s bulk was blocking the way out anyway. Plus, a small voice in her head chimed in, you wanted to see what her shop looked like so here’s your chance.

“Sure, sure,” Madame Penny said soothingly, as if quieting the younger woman’s fears. They were standing in a cramped hallway barricaded on every side by doorways. The one directly facing them led to the bathroom, or so the sign overhead said. Oddly enough, it was the door on the left that primarily confused Kate. It was made of glass and it looked out into rows upon rows of potted plants, sorted bouquet arrangements and lawn furniture. A florists shop?”

As if on cue, Madame Penny confessed, “I rent the space from Massie’s Flower Shop. It’s just over here, on the right.” Kate’s eyes followed the words. A curtain, hung up where a door might have been, met her look. This was presumably the opening to Madame Penny’s workspace? A curtain?

Either undaunted or unaware of Kate’s inner musings, Madame Penny swung the curtain to the side with a flourish, its plastic rings jingling against the rod support at the action. “Welcome,” she breathed.

Kate’s first impression of the setup was certainly surprising, just not in the way she expected. The room was kind of boring looking. And, truth be told, she wasn’t entirely sure if it could really be called a room. It felt more like a utility closet.

A small icebox was wedged against the back wall, the top holding a service tray with a carafe of coffee, a sugar caddy and a container of creamer resting atop it. She watched as Madame Penny opened one of its side doors to pull a saucer and a cup. Directly before it, so close it barely allowed for a walkway, was a small oval table, big enough for two, maybe three people. It was wooden. Oak and bare.

A space heater was kicked underneath the street-side window, and pushed out of the way. But it was actually the placement of a braided rug underfoot, colored with soft pinks, greens, and blues, which kept the floor from appearing hard and cold. The only other form of adornment came from the two paintings hung up on the walls: one, a picture of the night sky, stars blazing out at the spectator, the other an orchestra of flowers blossoming beside one another in a wild field; Kate found it a little amateurish. Winter Jasmine and Sunflowers would never bloom simultaneously.

“It’s small, but it’s mine,” Madame Penny said, the words tearing Kate’s inspection short, reminding her that she wasn’t alone.

Turning to smile at the other woman, Kate found she couldn’t imagine what that felt like. “You must be very proud of yourself.”

Penny shrugged this off as though it were of no consequence. “This is my life’s purpose. I’m just lucky enough to have stumbled upon it early enough to be useful,” she said, as though it were that simple. Kate felt a pang of envy at those words, at the easy acquiesce, even as they came from a person dressed in caricature.

“Listen, since you’re here why don’t I do a reading on you?” Madame Penny suggested then, her hand sweeping Kate toward a seat at the table.

“That’s okay. I don’t—,” Kate stopped, unsure how to proceed.

As it happened, Madame Penny seemed to know exactly what it was she couldn’t quite say. “You can tell me you aren’t interested in this all you like, but I’ve got eyes in my head. I saw your pert little nose pressed up against my window, your eyes searching out for answers. You weren’t just looking at the shops in town. You were looking at my shop. Because, whether you like it or not, you are… intrigued, curious,” she said, testing out the words.

“Might as well indulge yourself. And me,” she finished bluntly.

The words rankled a bit, but Kate found she couldn’t necessarily disagree with Madame Penny. It wasn’t so much what she said. Kate still didn’t buy into her profession and she wasn’t about to change on that, but she was lonely and maybe, just maybe a small part of her had been counting on Madame Penny noticing that when she’d been thrust up against the window outside.   It wasn’t that Kate was intrigued by Madame Penny, rather that Madame Penny seemed intrigued by her. Kate couldn’t remember the last time she’d been that to someone. Intriguing. And it was either sit here and play pretend or go home. All alone. The taste of that now familiar fear filled Kate’s tongue once again.

Without further ado, she took the proffered seat, dropping her heavy book bag and purse on the floor beside her feet. Within seconds, a cup of coffee was placed discreetly by her elbow, replete with a packet of sugar and creamer beside it. Stirring the contents together, Kate noticed that Penny had not poured any refreshments for herself. On the verge of questioning this, Kate was forestalled when she spied Penny reach into a filing cabinet shoe-horned in beside the icebox and retrieve from within a pack of cards. Kate swallowed back her disquiet. Apparently the psychic wasn’t thirsty.

“If you don’t have a preference, I think I’ll do a tarot card reading on you,” Madame Penny said, wasting no time. “There are many different formats available in psychic readings but I frequently find tarot cards, with their more specific instructions, easier to digest for those a bit more, shall we say, skeptical of the craft,” she said, adding half under her breath, “and of course, sometimes they aren’t! But I felt my hand tugged in their direction and I took that as a sign. Signs mean everything to me,” she told Kate deadpan.

Kate nodded, unsure what to say in response. Her stomach muscles tightening, she watched as Penny claimed her seat, the pack held loosely in her hands. They looked like cartoon trading cards. Kate wasn’t sure how seriously she could be expected to take ‘the craft’ when its supposed messengers looked as though they’d just stepped off a medieval comic strip. She kept that thought to herself however.

“Finish your coffee,” Madame Penny instructed, shuffling the deck. Kate did as she was told, swallowing most of liquid whole. She could hardly believe it herself but she was kind of, maybe, sort of excited to—

“Let’s begin, shall we?” Penny asked rhetorically, her voice cutting off Kate’s rambling thoughts, which was probably for the best. The less she confessed to herself the better.

Kate felt her head nod in response.

 

North of Happenstance

North of Happenstance: Chapter Two

Kate wondered if she didn’t need her head examined. She and that Madame Penny woman had barely stepped inside the LitLiber when Kate was informed that the book the psychic needed was something called: Spiritual Cleansing: Intuit Invocations, Smudging, and Clearing.

In other words, Penny explained, the book focused on purifying dwellings of any leftover, lingering spirits and energy. While she had never personally performed a cleansing herself, she felt more than up to the task. Plus, the recent popularity in its practices had convinced her of its necessary inclusion in her professional services. All she needed now was to practice and well, since Kate had just moved to town, it seemed only natural that she be her first client—pro bono of course.

Before Kate had time to come up with even one reason why she didn’t need her house cleared of spirits or sources of energy (whatever all that meant), Madame Penny had already pinned her down to an eight o’clock session that very night, complete with her written down address and phone number, in case something held her up; she did, after all, have to run and grab the necessary supplies to accomplish the job. Kate just hoped those supplies wouldn’t stain anything.

Standing there, stunned, next to a newsletter advertising a New Age lifestyle, Kate had barely felt Madame Penny’s hand patting her softly on the shoulder, or her expressed delight at the prospect. She’d nodded her head passively when instructed to keep her possessions in their moving boxes just a little while longer—it helped to keep the house as unfurnished as possible, for de-cluttering and contamination purposes. Contamination? Kate had opened her mouth to question the use of that word but she’d been too late. Madame Penny had already left, turning on her heel and scurrying down the aisle, her point of direction ominously final: the check-out counter. She’d called over her shoulder a short goodbye, adding that she didn’t have time to waste if she was going to get to the natural food store before they closed. She’d see her soon!

Kate had felt so bemused after the interaction she’d completely forgotten to buy her school books. She’s simply gone home. Madame Penny had given her veritable grocery list of items to accomplish before her arrival.

She’d try again tomorrow. This time, however, she’d be going alone.

 

Stretching out against the steps leading to the upstairs, Kate glanced down at her wristwatch; Madame Penny was officially five minutes late. The curved wood was hardly ideal for reclining, hardly ideal as a stoop for waiting, but Kate was limited in options. If she un-loaded her lounger Madame Penny would undoubtedly have a fit or worse, order its presence be removed/covered/or whatever. Not that Kate necessarily believed in spiritual cleansings, but she also didn’t want to appear rude. Besides, Madame Penny’s insistence upon this experiment hadn’t been all for naught. It had forced Kate to scrub the place properly, from top to bottom. It had been one of Madame Penny’s stipulations about the evening’s proceeding events. Apparently, it was damn near impossible to execute a proper purification if the house was swamped in dust and must.

Wiping a forearm across her brow tiredly, Kate considered that at least she hadn’t wasted the afternoon. If nothing else, she probably owed Madame Penny a ‘thank you’. She was one big step closer to moving in completely; all that was left was unpacking, furnishing and decorating and that wouldn’t take long. She hadn’t brought all that much with her, there hadn’t been time.  Then she’d be able to focus her attention entirely on her studies.

With a start, Kate heard the doorbell chime. Rising to her feet, she had half a mind to pretend she wasn’t home, or that she’d fallen asleep, or perhaps that Madame Penny had the wrong house…. Entertaining the notion was one thing, but follow-through was another altogether. Kate found her feet leading the way to the front entryway posthaste.

The sight which met her eyes next, upon opening the ornate wooden door, left Kate’s confidence about this little operation at an all time low. Madame Penny had changed into something she could only assume was a muumuu—Kate had never actually seen one up close before but if the billowing tent-esque shape of the multi-flowered print thing encircling her body was anything to go by…. Her hair was in much the same shape as earlier, only she’d swapped scarves, the newest version a deep set purple with gold pattern swirls zigzagging across its width. An overstuffed tote was thrown over one shoulder, the edge of a green glass bottle poking through the top. The word ‘elixir’ came to mind at the nondescript, sciency sight. Kate nonetheless waved her inside.

“What’s all this?” she asked skeptically as the other woman trudged through the vestibule and into the kitchen. Heaving the bag onto the portable island that had come with the place, she began busily emptying it of its contents. The green bottle was placed on either side of a small wooden serving bowl and a glass jar, popped shut with a cork stopper; next came a transparent bag containing what appeared to be potpourri and a small capsule holding some form of liquid inside its opaque depths. Madame Penny quickly lined them up accordingly on the counter space before retrieving her newly bought book from the same bag and laying it out, one particular page specially dog-marked. Settling it center stage, it was only then that Madame Penny seemed to hear Kate’s question.

“I told you I’d need a certain amount of supplies in order to complete the ceremony, didn’t I?” she asked, turning in Kate’s direction. She gestured a touch impatiently toward the stuff behind her.

“I guess,” Kate agreed, mentally cringing at the thought of what this house cleansing would entail. She should have put her foot down at the first mention of this little charade, but it was too late now. It would be unheard of to cancel; it was clear Madame Penny had gone through a lot of work to bring this thing to fruition. Not to mention, it would be hard to pull off the “I’m sick, let’s reschedule” shtick when she was already here, two feet in front of her.

“Now, first I’m going to open all the windows in the house,” Madame Penny said, and wasting no time in this effort, she reached over to crack the seal on one sitting directly above the kitchen sink. “It helps to give the spirits an easy portal to pass through on their way out—except for doors. We don’t want them to leave through the doors because sometimes they can get stuck there. Keep those suckers shut.”

Kate nodded her head dumbly but, at Madame Penny’s speaking look, she moved obligingly through the rest of the house, opening windows as she went. Soon enough each pane was cast ajar, and Kate’s arms had goose bumps running their length. It was a windy night.

Then Penny went hunting. Apparently, energy had a knack for hanging out around studs and drywall because the first thing she did was place her hands up against the walls—especially the archways—to feel for any unbalanced energy there, or at least that’s what she claimed when Kate asked.

Kate’s initial fear that a sledgehammer would be required in the event of any evacuation was shortly put to rest. It seemed a simple chant would do.

“AHH OHH AYE! Spirits listen to my call. Cast out what once was here, yes listen to my call,” Madame Penny sang out, as she walked the length of the kitchen. Biting down hard, Kate could barely contain the laughter drumming against her throat. It was all just a little too much. She had to applaud Madame Penny, though; she didn’t seem the slightest bit embarrassed by her part in this bizarre and frankly ludicrous act. “AHH OHH AYE, AHH OHH AYE,” she continued unabashed, “Spirits one and all: embrace the future, leave go the past, yes spirits one and all.” Exiting the kitchen she made for the bathroom. The chant consisted of multiple verses but Kate, deciding not to follow her around the house, and, as such, declining to eavesdrop on this section of the performance, wasn’t within earshot to hear the rest, excepting for small bits caught here and there as Penny made her rounds. Kate figured the less she knew about this whole process the better anyway.  Honestly, Madame Penny was the only thing that looked possessed, shuffling around the interior of the house, her palms never leaving the plaster casing.

 

“All right, I think we are finally ready,” Madame Penny announced minutes later, having appeared from the basement, apparently satisfied with the health and well-being of the primary walls.

“There’s more?” Kate asked incredulously.

“We’ve barely begun sugar,” Madame Penny told her. Holding out her hand, she beaconed Kate stand beside her, back at the kitchen island where it had all begun. Kate did as she was bidden, curiosity piquing when Penny reached for the green bottle and the wooden bowl.

“I’m going to recite a little invocation to help heal the house of any negativity. But don’t worry, I didn’t encounter anything of much concern as I canvassed the place just now,” she assured her.

Kate nodded her head. What else could she do? This was so far out of her element that even if she’d recorded tonight’s proceedings, she rather doubted anyone from her old life would believe she’d partook in all of this.

“Spirits of a higher and lighter love, I beseech thee: let the joining of the Universe’s elements cleanse this house and bestow upon it the sanctity of peace,” Madame Penny began, her voice low but strong. “Blessed oil,” she announced, pausing momentarily to put the words to deed, pouring this so-called substance from the green bottle and into the bowl. Then she continued, “Purest water; dried flower pedals; and kosher salt,” and again and again, Penny punctuated the words by dribbling, sprinkling, and pinching each of the named ingredients from their respective containers and into the bowl until all were combined. Reaching for a spoon, she mixed them together.

“Be with us now!” she invited, while systematically tossing a portion of this homemade remedy in a circle around the two of them. Then she bowed her head and, by default, Kate followed suit. Madame Penny may have a few screws loose, but Kate was brought up to respect the beliefs of those around her.

Seconds ticked by in this fashion, the only sound a soft humming coming from between Penny’s lips. With a flick of her eyes, Kate looked over at the psychic, unsure what was happening now. Penny’s eyes were closed, her mouth pulled slightly downward, her body seemingly in a state of utter relaxation, despite her standing position.

Kate tried to emulate the other woman’s posture, her own eyes screwed shut and a sigh suspended upon her lips… but she found the humming rather distracting. She spent the rest of the time, which she recognized as quiet meditation, trying to put words to the music.

The hum stopped abruptly. Madame Penny lifted her head, her eyes open, the irises bright with color and excitement. The room was thrust in sudden silence and expectation.

“Wow,” Kate whispered then, awkwardly. The well-worn interjection was unfortunately the best she could come up with after that, um… well she didn’t quite know what that was just now. Except. Except she was almost envious of how Penny’s body had sprung back to life in the aftermath, just as though it had been in a trance of rejuvenation or something.

“We aren’t done yet,” Penny informed her captive assistant with a wink. “Join hands with me and we will command the spirits of yesteryear to depart.” Shifting her body to face Kate’s, Madame Penny reached for her, holding tight. “Are you ready?” she asked.

“Uh. Yes?”

“Spirits of a dark and unholy light, spirits of unknown origin and evilness and sin, spirits hosting an unwanted and unsought-for negativity, leave this house now and never return again!” With a flourish, Madame Penny raised her arms up high over her head, and, in consequence, so did Kate. They held this position for a number of seconds until, seemingly satisfied that these so-called being’s had listened, Madame Penny lowered her arms back to her side, breaking contact with Kate in the process.

Rubbing her palms against her jeans, Kate was surprised to note their slight dampness. “What happens next?” Kate whispered to Penny, who was busy retrieving candles and incense from her bag.

“Now we smoke ‘em out,” that woman said, setting a lit flame against the first of these articles, “just in case they didn’t get the message the first time I asked.” Turning away, she headed for the living room. Kate wasn’t sure but she thought she heard the beginnings of another chant echoing across the walls.

 

 

 

 

The room was shrouded in darkness, the blackness broken only by a smattering of light filtering through the bedroom window, the source coming from a streetlamp half a block down,  marking the entrance into Lorring Park. Beside Kate, Phil’s body moved rhythmically with his breathing, the sound deep and even. The sight and sounds were familiar. Deliberately squeezing her eyes shut, Kate hoped to fall back to sleep. Rolling onto her side, she considered that Phil was on the verge of snoring, the noise breaking out over his mouth slowly building in a crescendo, so if she expected to get any rest tonight she’d better not waste any time reaching a state of slumber. Once Phil got started there was no stopping the small orchestra of phlegm-infused instrumentals…

Phil. Phil. Phil.

Phil!

Jack-knifing into a seated position, Kate’s wild eyes landed on his sleeping form yet again, but this time with a panic and fear. His slenderness was most noticeable at night, without the added material of his suit and tie. His skin looked pale. He could never tan. Not even when they took that vacation down to Mexico last summer. He’d received only the mildest of sunburns after their trip.

What the hell was Phil doing there?! Kate’s eyes swiveled from left to right quickly. The only piece of distinction was her grandma’s bureau which currently resided against the wall beside her closet, a narrow cubbyhole she feared would hardly contain her summer wardrobe. Not that she knew this for certain yet. Her clothes were still hanging in their garment bags downstairs. She was at her new home, on Eveleth Street.

Somehow Phil had found her. He’d found her….Oh God!

 

 

 

 

The sound of Kate’s own voice screaming against the shadows woke her. Clumsily pushing the covers off, she pulled her body up against the headboard as the memory of her dream rushed against her consciousness. Telling herself she was being idiotic, Kate couldn’t help looking to her left, in what had once been Phil’s side of the bed. The space was empty, unslept-in, the pillow still freshly fluffed from her ministrations earlier that evening. Calling herself a fool, she felt her hands patting down the comforter over there, just to make sure nothing (or no one) was hiding underneath. Then, sadly, she stooped so low as to lifting the blanket over her head, still not entirely convinced. Only the sheets, still nicely tucked in, stared back at her.

Dropping her head backward, the base of which knocked against wrought iron bars, Kate let out a sigh. Then a giggle. It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream. It was probably the stress of the last couple of days. Stress gave her nightmares. Isn’t that what landed her in this town in the first place? The nightmares?

Guess Madame Penny’s cleansing hadn’t removed all the negativity; Kate’s former life was still haunting her.

 

 

Kate didn’t fall back to sleep after that. She finally gave up trying at four o’clock in the morning. It was only as she was rolling out of bed, with the intention of putting some coffee on that she remembered: she didn’t have a coffee maker anymore. She didn’t have any household appliances anymore. She was going to have to make a trip to a department store sooner rather than later, an activity she both greeted with excitement and nervousness. She’d never personally picked out so much as a saucepan before in her life.

In the end, Kate had to wait another two hours, when that coffee shop downtown opened, before she got her morning shot of caffeine. By then she was bedraggled and crabby. It was the first time in her life she’d ever left the house without showering, without doing her hair. It was the first time in her life she walked out in public wearing something as grungy as a sweatshirt with a pair of faded jeans, loafers strapped to her feet. And it was exhilarating. Still, the coffee shop, at an hour of day unlikely to receive much traffic, was one thing, the rest of her errands—namely the bookstore and a retail outlet—would have to wait until she’d properly dressed herself. She might actually run into someone there.

And actually, as it happened, Kate didn’t make it to either of those places that day. Nor the next for that matter. By the time she got home, the night’s sleep deprivation had subsided and, thanks to an overwhelmingly burnt cup of café au lait, the sensory cells connected to her nose had perked up accordingly. Unfortunately, with the reawakening of these receptors came a newfound realization:  Madame Penny’s little cleansing the night before had stunk up her house!

The rest of her afternoon was spent ridding it of the overwhelming smells: Frankincense and Patchouli—incense the psychic had burned throughout the place, claiming they possessed healing powers; Olive Oil and expired potpourri—ingredients from her invocation.

It took fans strategically placed at each of her three exterior doors, all propped open to allow for a breeze; bowls, filled to overflowing with expertly ground coffee, stationed between her living room and kitchen, where the walls had been most heavily doused with the ‘blessed’ elements; and baking soda, the amount of which should have prequalified Kate for a stake in the company, sprinkled just about everywhere else, before she succeeded in neutralizing the pungent odor.

Already sweaty and determined, the following two hours saw Kate attempting to put the house to rights, an admittedly limited activity because she’d had time to pack very lightly before she moved, taking with her only the bare essentials, and not even all of those. Her clothes were quickly hung up in the closets of both her bedroom and the guestroom. Gram’s bureau was painstakingly pushed into the hallway, its thick design overpowering anywhere else. Pushed up against the back wall she considered it was both decorative and functional. She could house her linens in there. Maybe she’d buy a plant to set on its surface. Looking around the dimly lit space she considered it’d have to be something that didn’t require a lot of natural sunlight.

Next she moved her recliner, a relic from her college apartment which Phil had refused to exhibit in their loft and she’d quietly stowed away in the basement of her parent’s lake home, to the living room with the sole addition of an end table. The sparse furnishings, if nothing else, gave the appearance of a rather minimalist style—plus, the space looked enormous that way. The only other item she had left was the china dish set her mother had given her as an engagement gift which, since she and Phil hadn’t set on display yet, deciding to wait until after their wedding vows, had been easy to grab on her way out. They were entirely too fancy for her current living arrangements, but they’d do for now.

On the second day, Kate barely managed to get out of bed at all. Mostly, she snuggled deep against the pillows and cried. Fear. She knew it was fear. Starting all over, from scratch, by herself was scary. Instead of fighting the sensation, as she’d done for the past two weeks, she welcomed its presence, giving into its demanding insistence.

Her childhood nanny, aptly referred to as Nanny Moore—or just Nanny—had told her never to hide from her feelings. It is okay to be happy when you feel happy, just as it is to be sad when you feel sad, she’d tell her, when a young Kate would burrow her head against the folds of her long skirts in unhappiness. It is foolish to ignore your feelings, and only the weak pretend to be something they are not. This had brought untold comfort to a small child. But, of course, she’d caution next, in rather the same breath, one cannot allow these feelings to linger for long—too much of anything is dangerous, my poppet. The strong are inspired by their existence, the weak are consumed. So, cry it out now my poppet, but don’t be sad tomorrow.

            Kate couldn’t stay in her bed forever and she knew it. So, on the following day, she made herself get up. She brushed her teeth, she hopped in the shower, and she applied make-up to her face. And, like Nanny Moore had always predicted, she felt better. Even if only a little bit, she still felt better. She would not enable fear to control her life.

School syllabus in hand, Kate made for the door. Today she would go to the LitLiber bookshop, she would smile at the strangers she came across along the way, knowing that they were her new neighbors, and possibly, maybe, hopefully someday, her new friends. She would welcome the sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows, and she would be ready to tackle the day for what it brought her: a fresh perspective. And if she felt a little scared, that was fine.

She would meet it head-on.

 

North of Happenstance: Chapter One

Kate McDonald looked up from the newspaper in her hand to the house in front of her; according to the rental ad, the two bedroom one bathroom residence, located at 257 Eveleth Ave, had a semi-furnished basement, a fireplace in the rustic, high-vaulted living room, and a modernized kitchen. She narrowed her eyes. The price was a steal. She’d paid more for her 750 square foot loft in Minneapolis.

Welcome to Whestleigh, Connecticut.

Rolling the newspaper up, and sticking it in her back pocket, she climbed the stairs to the front door. It was painted red. She might as well give it a look, despite vague doubts—just what exactly did they mean by ‘modernized’?

“Mrs. McDonald,” she heard as the door ahead of her swung open, revealing a middle aged woman with upswept blond hair.

“Ms. McDonald,” Kate corrected quickly, holding out her hand to greet the realtor, who she recognized from the advertisement’s accompanying picture.

“Pardon me. Ms. McDonald,” she said with a smile, her arm guiding Kate through the threshold and onto the split entryway landing.

Grey speckled rubber tile met her feet. It was far from appealing and the wood paneled walls screamed eighties chic, or something. Kate’s fears confirmed, the word modernization had been stretched to its furthest limit. To be sure, it wasn’t love at first sight.

Kate listened with half an ear as the woman prattled on. This, she was told, opened onto the mudroom, situated two steps up and to the right; from her vantage point, Kate saw it was composed of the same material design. Mentally, reclassifying it as the vestibule, Kate considered that given a couple rugs, some fresh paint and maybe a potted plant or two and the room would be almost charming.

Immediately to her left were stairs leading to the basement. A bare light bulb flickered ominously overhead. Kate wasn’t sure what compelled her but, swept by impulse, and perhaps already a little bored, she ditched propriety and, without waiting for invitation, made it her intention to check out that area first, her feet steering her downward even as she spoke. Accordingly, much to the chagrin of the realtor, whose name eluded Kate at the moment, this resolve could only be pronounced as off-script.

“It might be best to look through the upper levels first,” she called to Kate, her high-heeled footwear impeding her attempts to catch up. Indeed, Kate was already halfway through the first of the rooms hosted in the dank compartment by the time she huffed and puffed her way to down.

Kate took a deep breath. The cinderblock walls and green felt carpet hardly constituted as semi-finished in her mind. Narrow but long, the rooms were attached to one another like soldiers, lined up back-to-back in a stately fashion. It was only in the next of this succession that Kate managed to find some degree of relief.

A sauna, of sturdy pine, had been built into the walls. Beside it was a late model hot tub. Both needed a good scrubbing out but Kate figured she could work with that. Nothing was more comforting after a tough exam or hard day’s studying than muscle-relaxing heat. She had the best of both sources right here. And, the green carpet hadn’t extended this far, so that was a definite plus.

Scurrying past Kate, the harried realtor pressed on, despite interrupted attempts to properly show the house: “And here, through this back door, is the utility space, replete with a fully working washer and dryer…or so I’m told.” The last words came out haltingly as that woman turned into the room’s corner, her eyes ominously following the direction of her voice. Squeezing her own body into the small, cramped space Kate immediately saw the source of this sudden reticence.

She wasn’t sure how old the washer and dryer were but if the muted yellow color was anything to go by she felt sure they were a product of a bygone decade… or two.

“Well, as you know, machines from these generations were really, um, built to last,” the lady said then, slapping her hand solidly against the washer’s lid.

“Yeah, I guess they do say that,” Kate agreed awkwardly. What else could she say?

Nervously, the realtor sprang into action. Grabbing Kate’s wrist she more-or-less pushed her backward, forcibly retracing her steps. “Now, listen, before you make any quick judgments, you haven’t really seen any of the house yet. Let’s take a spin upstairs and check out what this place really has to offer.”

Kate didn’t have the heart to tell her no, plus she was too busy trying to keep up with her to offer up any protests. Those shoes may have been hell on the stairs two minutes ago but, dang, if that woman couldn’t sprint when she’d set her mind to it!

It was only upon reaching the mudroom—no, vestibule—that Kate was allowed even the smallest respite to catch her breath, but only because the realtor had come to a halt, stopping to rifle through a briefcase, which Kate, up until that moment, hadn’t noticed she’d been lugging along with her.

“Aha,” that woman said triumphantly then, pulling out a brochure from within its faux leather depths. “Shall we start?” she asked while simultaneously shoving the glossy pamphlet in Kate’s hand. It didn’t appear there was any other option.

“Sure, why not,” she said with a shrug. How much worse could the building get?

 

 

Two hours later, sitting in a nearby coffee shop—she couldn’t remember its name, something kitschy like Bean Tamptations or something—Kate wasn’t entirely convinced she hadn’t just made a year-long mistake. The beginnings of a headache beat at the edges of her temples. It was done, the decision made official, the contract binding… The pressure against her sinuses grew at the thought. It probably didn’t help any that she was sitting in a room crowded with strangers, anonymous conversations floating overhead. Still her decision to stop at the local cafe had been deliberate. She was suddenly desirous to get better acquainted with the town, and the people within it. She’d thought the public place might help calm her nerves (though on second thought, caffeine may not have been a wise choice). After all, she would soon live here too.

She’d signed the lease agreement. She was the tenant. For another twelve months, give or take.

Certainly, the rest of her tour with the realtor, whose name she later learned was Cathy, proved as underwhelming as the basement. Admittedly, the kitchen was large, with solid oak cupboards bordering three-fourths of the walls but unfortunately they were also painted a soft peach color and offset by red tiled countertops. Still, the pine-covered flooring was open, and the bay window, tucked in an alcove where Kate pictured a dining room table would sit, brought in a lot of natural light. Of course, it also brought in an imposing view of the neighbor’s lawn and possible goings-on, but one couldn’t have everything.

The living room was moderately sized. Windows lined the south side of walls painted olive green, a byproduct of the previous tenants. Very drab. Cathy assured Kate she could repaint anything she wanted. The bathroom was old, with originally laid hexagonal tiles and a claw-foot bathtub (which, ok, was actually pretty awesome). The upstairs was boring, nothing but a long hallway with four doors on either side, all beside one, which turned out to be a linen closet, leading to identically arranged bedrooms: four walls and a couple square windows.

So the house wasn’t anything to write home about. Especially not to Kate’s family home, but she’d figured it was good enough. For now anyway. Besides she needed a place. The hotel she’d been staying at the past couple of days smelt kind of moldy and the elevator made an unnerving squeal every time it charted her up or down from her third story room. Classes started next week and she didn’t want any distractions or unknowns. It had been five years since she’d last seen the light of a classroom. She was twitchy with her nervousness. She needed a place to call home, a place of consistency. Even if it was only temporary.

Pocketing her keys, Kate nodded her head decisively. The house on Eveleth Ave it was.

“Too much of that and you’ll give yourself a headache.” Kate’s head snapped back at the unexpected, and unsolicited, advice coming so close to her left ear. Looking up, she encountered a pair of striking blue eyes staring back down at her. Above them, sitting high on the stranger’s head was a beehive of dark curls, the monotony of which was broken only by the addition of a bejeweled head scarf, wrapped in the form of a bow. The owner of these features appeared to be near Kate’s age, perhaps a little older—maybe early thirties?

“Huh?”

A festively painted fingernail tapped a rhythmic tattoo against the papers clutched in Kate’s hand. “You’re staring pretty hard. It’ll give you a headache. Or worse, wrinkles. What is it anyway?” Kate felt those eyes peering heavily over her shoulder, “a rental lease?”

Carefully placing the stapled contract back down on the table—face first, Kate answered this more-or-less rhetorical question. “Yup.”  She hoped her show of brevity would convince this newcomer it was a private, personal matter.

“You’re new in town, right?” To Kate it sounded like another statement. “I hope you don’t mind, but curiosity is my profession,” the person continued, pulling out the chair opposite Kate and taking a seat. “This spot isn’t taken?”

“Uh no, go ahead,” Kate reassured. It was probably too late to say anything else anyway.

“I’m Madame Penny, the town psychic,” the woman said at last, holding out a hand expectantly. Kate shook it.

“I’m Kate McDonald.”

“Yes, I know.” At this frankly curious look, Madame Penny went on, “No, no, I didn’t channel my intuitive senses. Nah. I’ve noticed you around town the last couple of days—it’s not very often leggy blondes with ridiculously clear skin come into town, especially when they’re housing enough baggage to outfit an entire orphanage—do those things even still exist? Nevermind. What was I saying? Oh yes, your name. Well, I saw you in here today,” she said, waving her hand around the coffee shop, “so I asked Jenny and she told me.”

“Who’s Jenny?” Kate asked.

“The barista,” Penny said.

“How’d she know my name?” Kate asked.

“It’s on your credit card,” Penny told her a touch impatiently now.

Kate nodded her head, all the while making a mental note to pay with cash from now on. She’d never lived in a small town before now and Whestleigh, Connecticut seemed a far cry from the city. The town’s population sign claimed that 9,000 people lived there. Kate was starting to have some serious reservations about that math though.

“So you’re a psychic?” Kate asked, latching on to that piece of information belatedly. She hoped it sounded conversational. She’d never met someone of that profession, at least, not someone so vocal about it. Besides, she didn’t have any other talking points ready at hand. She hadn’t counted on actually meeting any of the townsfolk yet.

Madame Penny waved away the question as if it were a gnat to be shooed by the flick of her wrist “Why Whestleigh?” she asked instead, leaning her elbows against the table, her head propped up against her open palms.

“What?”

Penny made a face. “You’ll have to excuse me, it’s just, no one moves to Whestleigh. It’s a small town damn near in the middle of nowhere. Besides Bailey’s Park there’s little here to draw visitors and even then it’s just for a Sunday afternoon picnic. This town is made up of lifers, those who never saw the chance to escape and have since resigned themselves to its ghostly appearance. You aren’t one of them, which begs the question: why move here?” she asked, pointing one of those catlike nails at Kate’s face. “What gives?” Leaning forward as far as the table top would allow, she pitched her ears eagerly in the direction of Kate’s mouth, determined not to miss a word of this.

Kate let her chair scoot back a little, trying to be unobtrusive. Madame Penny had gotten awfully close all of a sudden.         “I moved here for college.”

Madame Penny shook her head bemusedly, unused to hearing those words, that particular explanation. “What, you mean that little bitty school the next town over, in Hiltbolt? What’s that place called? Cordwyn College?”

“That’s the one,” Kate said drily, reaching for her cup of coffee.

“Humph,” the older woman said, “I’m not buying it. What’s the real story?” Grabbing Kate’s wrist, she effectively forestalled the intended action of bringing cup to mouth.

“Huh?” Kate asked, tugging her arm free. She wasn’t sure if this Madame Penny was annoying or if her overly-invasive conversational tactics were refreshing. It was, after all, her first real dialogue in over two weeks. She supposed it was nice to talk to someone no matter the subject matter, which was probably why she hadn’t vacated her seat yet.

“No one moves here for that college. Hell, they don’t even market outside a thirty mile radius of the campus. The only people that go there are as follows: those that don’t have the money for a big name university, those that have SAT scores too low for one, or those that are preparing for their role as a town lifer. No offense,” she persisted, “but you, with your designer hand-bag, $500 dollar hair cut, and intellectual carriage are none of those things.”

Kate smiled, remaining stubbornly silent.

“So? What’s the real story?” Madame Penny asked again, doggedly determined to have her own way.

Kate pursed her lips. She had to admit that while she didn’t believe in psychics, Madame Penny possessed a heightened sense of perception. And a frank tongue. Kate shook her head; it wasn’t as if she hadn’t given herself the same lecture, asked the same questions a thousand times already in the past two weeks. And, in a way, Penny had kind of complimented her.

“Life is unpredictable,” Kate said simply.

When it became clear to Madame Penny that that was all Kate planned to say, she took it as her turn to speak again. “Don’t want to talk about it? Okay, that’s fine. Listen I won’t pressure you.”

Kate opened her mouth in thanks but before she could get a word out Madame Penny continued: “It just seems to me that everyone’s got to talk to someone and well, girl you look likely to explode if you don’t spill it, and soon.” She shrugged. “Since you don’t appear to have anyone in this town…”

Kate didn’t bother to answer her this time, which was for the best because Madame Penny wasn’t yet finished. “But as I said, no pressure. Besides I love a good mystery—just about as much as I love solving one,” she said meaningfully.

Because her business was in curiosity, Kate silently reminded herself.

“Honestly,” Kate said cutting her off this time, the aim of which was to shut her up. The tactic worked, but for how long Kate didn’t care to wager. “You’ve made this out to be something bigger than what it is. I think you’d be letdown by the truth now. There’s nothing of intrigue about it.”

Much as expected, Madame Penny’s lips had barely trembled to a close before starting up again, her expression perking up at this. “Does that mean you’re going to tell me?” she asked hopefully.

Kate sighed, the action blowing her bangs, which were cut in a heavy fringe across her narrow forehead, in complete disarray. She’d worry about that later. Right now she had a story to disclose. “I don’t see any way out of it.”

Madame Penny leaned even closer, if that were at all possible.

“You’re right, I’m not from here,” Kate began drily. “I was born and raised in Minneapolis, Minnesota.”

“That explains your accent,” Madame Penny interjected before resuming her role of active listener.

Kate nodded absently. “And you weren’t all together wrong about my place at Cordwyn College either. I have an MBA—and yes, I did receive it from a prestigious university, as it seems you would’ve supposed.” Her voice softening, Kate couldn’t help but be transported back in time, if only momentarily. Her voice, when she continued, softened slightly with nostalgia. “I was only twenty-three years old then. After graduating, I accepted a position with an investment bank, a cushy ladder with which to climb by way of corporate speak. It was the life I always thought I wanted. I was even engaged to be married for a little while—”

“You were engaged to be married?” Madame Penny interrupted, exploding into speech. “Whoa, kind of buried the lead there, didn’t you?”

Kate felt her lips twitch. Like a bloodhound on the hunt, Madame Penny seemed bent on sniffing out the story, replete in all its faded glory. Well, if that were the case, she was doomed to disappointment. Kate hadn’t traveled near half-way across the country to revive the story of a life she left behind. “I guess. To me it’s all one-and-the-same—the past.”

Madame Penny accepted this statement with the bob of her head. “I see, but how’d you get from there here—to the present?”            she asked emphatically.

Kate laughed glibly. By aide of distance and hard-won perspective, with the advantage of a mental ‘no trespassing’ sign stamped on certain memories, she almost felt like an impassive narrator.  “How does anyone? Life happened. Things change, people change. You can’t control it, instead you find yourself just tagging along for the ride,” she added meaningfully. Smiling with an air of flippancy, she meant to leave it at that, before the rigid control she had over her emotional paralysis exhausted itself.

“The life we think we want is often mistaken for the life we are meant to live,” Madame Penny mused in consent to this, the meta-cognizant statement unknowingly pushing her companion nearer the limit of her restraint.

“Amen. You can’t dictate the realm of reality the way you can the imagination,” Kate thought out loud, sounding oddly relieved at the unexpected rally, “dreams are invariably disappointed, duped by illusions of…nonsense.”

But of what, Madame Penny wasn’t sure. The inference of those last words, loaded with significance, reinforced her intention to find this woman out. Patience, she told herself. It wasn’t going to happen today. She could see that by the stubborn set of Kate’s mouth, the lines of strain curving the edges of her lips. She’d shared enough.

Kate had come to the same conclusion herself; staring down at the table where her fingers were clenched tightly together, the maneuver a deliberate stall, she wondered if she hadn’t meant to confess that last bit vocally, least of all to this unsettling neighbor. “What happened is irrelevant,” she amended. “I just, I needed a fresh start.”

Madame Penny nodded, looking oddly wise for a woman in that getup. “You left it all behind,” she said.

“Yeah, I did,” Kate said, remembering the frantic movements that night which lead her to Phil’s home office, her hands filing through stacks of papers, scattering pens and sticky notes onto the floor in her rush, searching blindly through the darkened room for the tri-folded escape route. “I took out a map—an actual atlas, and ran my fingers across its length. When I looked down they were hovering over this city.” Kate shrugged, determined to keep it light. “So I packed up my bags, enrolled in the local college, this time for an art history degree, and found myself a new home. Here.” The ease with which she spoke now was not lost on Madame Penny.

Needing no further encouragement, the psychic’s heavily ringed hands reached out across the span of table between them to cover Kate’s balled-up fists. The action was protective, sheltering. “At some point, you’ll have to get it out. All of it,” she demanded, serious suddenly despite Kate’s best attempts otherwise. “The aura shadowing behind you—this clinging sensation of heartache and betrayal—it’ll consume you if kept locked up inside for too long,” she informed her, not bothering to mince her words. “Everyone’s got to talk to someone,” she repeated with resonance. “That’s how it gets better, whatever it is.”

And when you’re ready I’ll be here, she considered silently to herself, waiting to hear the rest of it.

“Dully noted,” Kate answered, the touch of Madame Penny’s hands, where they imprisoned her own, casted a peculiar impact on her. Instinctively, she wanted to recoil at the imposed vulnerability of that hold but, before she could do more than flinch in self-defense, her hand stilled. To pull away would be a dead giveaway. Her lips pulling up sardonically, she forced her hand to relax.

“But we’ll leave that for another day,” Madame Penny said, patting her hands once before relinquishing the hold.

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Kate took the opportunity to push her empty cup to the edge of the table, scoot her chair back and make a move to stand up, signaling her intention to leave. “It was-a, really nice meeting you,” she told the physic then, holding her hand out demurely for it to be shaken. “I’ve got to run—school supplies, you know. Where do you suppose is the best place to purchase my textbooks?” she asked politely, by way of explanation.

If she’d hoped to dissuade Madame Penny and make a smart departure it was now her turn to be disappointed. Her face perking up at the words, Madame Penny eagerly nodded her head.  “LitLiber. It’s our local bookstore. I’ll show you the way; I have to stop there myself.”

Kate made a noncommittal sound in her throat as the other woman linked her arm through the crook of Kate’s elbow, effectively leading her out the door.

With a sigh of defeat, Kate matched her steps.

Carnival Lights: Chapter Twenty-Six

Staring pointedly at her reflection in her bathroom mirror, Christina carefully applied a nude shade of lipstick to her pouting lips. Standing back, she surveyed the finished product. Her nerves jumped uncomfortably in her neck as she squinted back at her herself.

She looked fine.

Casual, but not too casual.

“God, get a grip,” she muttered, popping the lid back on her lipstick with a decided snap. She’d changed three times, spent over half an hour scouring her wardrobe –the pantsuit had been far too professional, and the sundress was choking on its own femininity…until she’d finally settled on a milky white sweatshirt with Jason’s high school mascot splashed across it’s front, which she’d purchased from Mary last year for some fundraiser or another, and a pair of tightly slimming designer jeans.

That was it: jeans and a sweatshirt. Rocket science, really.

She was more than a little disgusted with herself (especially the way her eyes kept traveling back to the mirror, as if trying to reassure herself she looked fine. Good.)

Her hair was up in a deliberately messing ponytail, with soft tendrils falling against her temples and whispering across her cheekbones—and to complete the ensemble, she’d rubbed on a tiny bit of blusher and just a hint of eyeliner.

And the lipstick, of course.

Taking a deep, uneven breath, she stumbled out of the bathroom and checking her watch, she took herself stiffly into her dimly lit livingroom. With a huff, she sat down in the arm chair, her fingers drumming against the cushioned rest. Jason had said he’d pick her up at 6:30—and if she were being completely honest with herself, Christina had been slightly let down that he hadn’t offered to take her to dinner first. She resisted the urge to check her watch again. It was 6:25 p.m.

With a decidedly edgy leap, Christina shot back up to her feet again, her boots pacing up and down the length of the floor. She was nervous. Understandably so. Excited and—dammit! Where the hell was Jason?

Almost as if on cue, a knock sounded at the back door, interrupting her thoughts. Spinning clumsily, Christina gaped behind her.

“Jason,” she whispered inanely, her cheeks taking on a dusty glow as she stumbled forward, jerking the door open a bit abruptly in her haste.

And there he was, standing on the other side of her threshold. At the sight of him, Christina knew she’d made the right choice in her outfit. He was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a red and white plaid button-down shirt.

For a split second, no one spoke. Christina felt tongue-tied, gauche—feelings she was entirely unaccustomed to feeling; but then again, she’d also never changed three times for a date before, either.

“Uh, hi,” she finally said, leaning self-consciously against the door frame. The pose felt forced, like that of a woman trying to be playful. She pulled herself upright.

“Hey yourself,” Jason offered with a tiny grin.

There it was again—that split second of stilted silence…

Christina remained where she was, watchful, waiting—

“Uh,” with a nod, Jason cleared his throat, gesturing toward his waiting truck. “Ready to go?”

“What? Oh.” Christina’s head jerked. “Yes. Well, Um, let me just check….” Her feet were already pedaling backward, her words babbling nonsensically out of her mouth in retreat: “Just need to lock up. I’ll be—right back. I’ll be right back.”

She didn’t wait to hear his response. Turning on her heel, she quickly disappeared down the hallway. Once she was out of sight, she made a quick getaway back to the bathroom where she quickly reassessed her appearance one last time. When she reemerged at the front door moments later, purse slung over her shoulder and keys in hand, she could only hope she looked the part.

It was a still evening, and warm for Minnesota temperatures at that time of year. Pushing her sleeves up her arms, Christina quickly turned the deadbolt in place and, with a half-glance at Jason indicated she would follow after him. If she felt tense and weird—like her skin was too tight and her limbs uneven sudden as she trudged down the short flight of steps to the sidewalk where his truck sad idling, Jason’s parting shot as she scrambled inside, shutting the door behind her, did not help matters anyway.

Giving her a quick grin as he buckled his seatbelt, Jason chuckled: “I hope you’re ready for this.”

“Ready for what?” Christina asked suspiciously.

“Oh, you’ll see” was all he said, turning the key over in the ignition. With a quick check in his side-mirror, he pulled out onto the street. His eyes were set on the road before them. “By the way, in case I don’t get the chance to say it later, you look beautiful tonight, Christina.”

Pressing her lips together reflexively, Christina squirmed under the glow of his compliment. “Thank you.”

“But then, you always do.”

“Oh no… I mean, it’s just a sweatshirt.” But she was pleased, beyond pleased, to downplay her attractions.

He grinned, his eyes still looking out at the road. “Yeah? Doesn’t that say it all.”

Christina ducked her head demurely. “Well, you don’t look too shabby yourself.”

In response, Jason chuckled, his fingers drumming loosely against the steering wheel as he drove out into the evening traffic. The rest of the ride passed in a blur of occasional small talk between patches of silence and radio songs. Christina had almost started to relax when he pulled into the school’s parking lot.

Climbing out, she’d no sooner felt both her feet touch the ground than Jason was there, circling the front of the vehicle, his hand reaching out for hers as he steered them toward the admittance stand.

Her stomach flopped at the contact, his fingers entwining with her own. A sense of pride rose in her as they stopped to purchase their tickets. Families milled in a semi-circle behind them, watching them….

But it wasn’t until they’d entered into the field that Christina really became aware of it: the eyes. They were being watched. By damn near everyone.

“Hey Mr. Gordman…” packs of girls would throw out, giggling behind their hands as they skirted past.

“Looking good Mr. G!” young teenaged boys, very cocky in their team jerseys and free from the hallways of the school, would shout at them from across the field.

There were even a couple not-so-subtle winks tossed his way.

“I take it this is what you meant in the truck,” Christina stated, nodding after a pack of kids, who’d been wondering loudly (almost too loudly to be strictly innocent) amongst themselves who the ‘lady’ was with Mr. Gordman.

Jason didn’t need her to explain that statement. He chuckled. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s always weird for kids, seeing their teachers outside of the classroom, being regular human beings.”

“Hmmm.” Christina’s eyes narrowed as they walked further out. “Then what’s your excuse for the adults?”

“Huh?”

Christina nodded toward a group of forty-something adults, all huddled together with questioning smiles on their face and arched eyebrows leveled their way. “They seem rather intrigued by your human status, too.”

Jason laughed. “Colleagues,” he offered by way of explanation.

“Yes, thank you. I sort of gathered that on my own,” Christina replied smartly.

“They’re just curious,” Jason commented.

“You don’t bring your woman to the games often then?”

He looked down at her. She couldn’t quite describe the look on his face. “You’re the first.”

“Ah. That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why I’m feeling decidedly like a mid-term report right about now,” Christina informed him. “Graded.”

He laughed again. “Believe me, you’ve got nothing to worry about on that score.”

“Except for that one,” Christina said, nodding at one particular woman who was standing a little to one side of the crowd. She was younger than the rest of the staff, her age nearer to Christina’s own. She was wearing a beige fisherman’s sweater and black slacks, and her straight-straight black hair was falling limply to the tips of her shoulders.

Unlike everyone else, she wasn’t smiling.

Her eyes were narrowed on Christina’s person.

“She doesn’t look impressed,” Christina said.

Jason made a funny face, shrugging a little stiffly. “Yeah, well…” His free hand went up to rub the back of his neck.

And that’s when Christina knew—

“You two dated.”

He frowned, his steps leading them more quickly now to the stands. “Briefly.”

“And you ended it,” Christina continued as they walked on. Was it her imagination, or were the woman’s eyes following after them even still?

He sighed. “Yeah. I guess” His short answers told her quite clearly that he didn’t want to talk about it.

Christina pushed anyway. It was stupid really, but she found herself oddly…jealous. Jealous that another woman had tried to stake her claim; jealous at the notion that she could so easily lose him too; terrified to swap positions with that pour woman standing there, her eyes pitifully following after them…

And that’s at what time the thought occurred to her. “When?”

“Huh?”

“When did you break things off with her?” Christina had a sinking feeling she knew what his answer would be.

“Ah…” His hand was back again, rubbing against the side of his neck. His other hand tightened reflexively against hers as they reached the bleachers, their feet taking them higher and higher into the stands.

“When Jason?”

Sliding into a section, he paused to look back at her. His eyes were reluctant when they met hers. “A couple of weeks ago.”

She nodded robotically. It was, after all, the response she’d been expecting. That black-haired waif down on the sidelines looked too freshly hurt to be an old lover. “So, right after Easter?”

“Come on,” he said in response, tugging her forward to an opening in the seats. It wasn’t until they’d both sat down on the cool metal bench that he spoke again:“Don’t back away from me. Please.”

She felt her shoulders tense. “I won’t.”

He sighed. “Maybe not physically.”

 

Carnival Lights: Chapter Ten

Ignoring this blatant form of teasing, Christina pressed her finger down on the intercom button so hard her nail almost split with the pressure. She was so unsettled that she hardly even noticed.

“Mr. Gordman,” she called out. “Your son’s here to see…” she wasn’t even given the chance to finish her sentence before Mr. Gordman’s door was opening, the man himself scuttling quickly out of it. His jacket was still slung over the crook of his arm.

“Jason!” He cried, stepping forward to pat his son rather too brusquely on the back of his shoulders.

“Ready for lunch?” Jason asked, flicking a look down at the watch on his wrist. He glanced over at Christina then, who, for her part, was trying to look both desperately busy with the single sheet of paper on her desk and totally disinterested with the display before her. “Hungry, Chrissy?”

Startled by the question, Christina didn’t have time to school her features. Abandoning the paper in her hands (for really it was a lost cause—no one believed her anyway), Christina’s eyes flew up to catch Jason’s gaze. But before she could so much as form a thought much less a word, Mr. Gordman was speaking.

“Come on Jason,” he said impatiently as he shucked on his jacket. “Let’s get going. I’ve got a meeting at two o’clock.” Without bothering to glance at Christina, Mr. Gordman ushered his son out into the bullpen—just as though Jason hadn’t offered the invite, just as though Christina hadn’t clearly heard it…

Blinking, Christina could do nothing more than watch, mutely as they made for the building’s entrance. She tried to swallow normally, her cold hands shaking almost uncontrollably on the top of her desk. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, and her breathing was coming too fast, almost choking her. Humiliation, in all its myriad fathoms, flashed over her person. She could feel her cheeks heating up under the reality of having been not-so-subtly snubbed. And by Matthew of all people.

“Shit,” she whispered hoarsely to herself, turning forcibly back to her computer screen. The spreadsheet she’d pulled up on the screen earlier blurred before her eyes now. Rows upon rows upon columns of financial projections swarmed nonsensically…. There went her hope that Mr. Gordman hadn’t noticed anything amiss between her and Jason.

There went her hope that nothing would change.

There went everything.

“Shit,” she whispered again, for no other reason that the sound of her voice, no matter how small and fragile, filled the looming ache rising up her throat.

The imprint of Mr. Gordman’s slighting hung like a heavy cloak over her shoulders. He’d never done that before. Ignored her. Left her out. Treated her as though…treated her as though she were merely his secretary.

For the second time in as many minutes she felt an almost crushing wish to see her mother once more, to talk to her, call her up on the phone. Just to hear her voice. Staring harder at the computer screen, her eyes tried to conjure that woman’s face, transposing the image over the data on display there.

Dark blonde curls hanging just past her shoulders, paper-thin lines crinkling out from the edges of her eyes, most noticeable on Sunday mornings when she used a little too much ivory-tinted powder, complete with the most startling green eyes, Natalie DeLuca was, had always been, a stunner. A tall woman, she’d never known weight problems, and hadn’t ever suffered fools of this epidemic lightly, nor had she ever truly faced the anguish of high-heeled shoes. A homemaker, she’d always been there when Christina got home from school as a child—and always, always with a batch of hot cookies just out of the oven.

Though, if cookies and an apron slung over her hips sounded homey and sentimental, that was as close to that image as Natalie DeLuca got. She was a tough women. Born on a farm with more brothers and sisters than there was food on the table, she’d learned how to fight. That’s pretty much how she’d caught hold of Mitch DeLuca—pure determination to never live that kind of life again. And lawyer’s wives, after all, didn’t have to worry about something as frivolous as a grocery bill. Yet, if you were lucky enough to be loved by her—Christina sniffed, the corner of her hand coming up to wipe at her nose discreetly, well, then you knew how comforting that fierce protectiveness was. How safe.

Almost without knowing it, Christina found her lips jerking up a little at the sides. If her mother could see her now, moping over a man! “Lift that chin up when you talk about yourself,” Christina could almost hear her saying now in that smoker’s rasp she’d acquired over the years. “No man will make my baby feel less of herself. Especially when you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Christina frowned.

Of course, that would rather be the tricky point, wouldn’t it? Proving to her mother that, indeed, Christina hadn’t provoked this undue attention on herself. That she hadn’t chased after Jason in the first place.

No. Natalie wouldn’t believe Christina.

After all, she’d been fooled by her daughter once before.

Shuttering, Christina could still hear her mother’s voice screaming from that long ago day, her face almost puce with rage when she’d found out. Flinching, Christina tried to block the memory, but it shouted between her ears:

“…what the hell were you thinking?” Shaking, Natalie’s eyes had snapped fire. “You’re, you’re, oh God you’re exactly what women are terrified of. We’re terrified of girls like you—teasing men when they have no right to it!”

Disgust had radiated off the pucker of her mother’s lips, her hands, clenched into fists, shaking with rage and the purest form of disgust. Christina could still feel the curved design of the door pressing against her back as she’d slunk back away from her mother’s wrath.

“…I raised you better than that,” she spat, her lips grimacing as they took in the shrinking form of her daughter. “I know I did. I know it! I sure didn’t raise this,” she insisted, her hand flicking over Christina’s shaking person.

For her worth, Christina had tried to explain. “Mama, please—”

With a flush, Christina could almost still feel the crack of her mother’s hand as it slapped across her cheek, the sting of the air as it pressed up against her raw flesh.

“Get the hell out.” Natalie’s voice was strangely even. “Get out. I don’t ever want to see you again—!”

Pressing her lips close together, Christina could just about rememb…

“Hey, Christina are you okay?”

Jerking up at the question, Christina half turned to see Ashley Brightly, the office intern, standing beside her desk, a deep frown etched on her overly-tanned face. A couple of pieces of paper were clutched tightly in her left hand, but then Ashley seemed to have forgotten them in her anxious scrutiny of Christina’s face.

For the first time, Christina felt the wet trail of tears on her cheeks. Brushing them back with the cuff of her shirt, she sniffed. “Yes. No.” With a sudden, desperate shake of her head, Christina rolled her chair back. “No. I’m not.”

Ashley’s eyes widened.

Christina hardly noticed. She only knew she had to get the hell out of there. Now. Before she made an even bigger as out of herself. Gaining her feet abruptly, she tried to smile at Ashley. The result was an ugly twitch of her mouth and eyes that couldn’t quite meet the intern’s face.

“I have to leave,” she insisted, grabbing her coat off the back of her chair. “Please tell Mr. Gordman…” she paused, shrugging into her coat. Honestly, she didn’t care what Ashley told Mr. Gordman. “Tell him I’m not feeling well.”

“Yeah. Of course,” Ashley assured her, her head nodding along to this nonsense all too eagerly.

“I’ll be back in tomorrow,” Christina said, her eyes flicking nervously over her desk.

“Sure…” but Ashley may as well have saved her breath. Christina was already gone, her steps, a little uncoordinated in her rush, taking her tersely through the bullpen and out the front door.

Carnival Lights: Chapter Nine

Christina frowned. Tossing the bag of candy back onto Jackie’s desk, she turned and paced, her hands repeatedly twisting and untwisting the wrapper on the chocolate bar she still held in her hands. She frowned.

“Mr. Gordman me asked over for Easter dinner,” she said quietly. She couldn’t see Jackie’s eyebrows rise incredulously when she added quietly: “And things got a little, uh…”

“Oh my God,” Jackie whispered, her hands coming up to either side of her face. Her eyes widened nervously. “Oh my God,” she repeated, stunned. “Tell me you didn’t?”

“Huh?” At her pleading tone of voice, Christina turned to look at her friend.

Jackie gulped, forcing the words past stunned lips. “Jesus. He’s married….”

“Whoa. Wait,” Christina held up a hand impatiently, cutting Jackie off midstream. She laughed. “Do you think—me and Mr. Gordman?” Christina’s face tautened self-righteously. “As if!” She threw her head back and laughed, but she was clearly not the least amused by Jackie’s assumption.

Jackie squirmed at the look on Christina’s face. Shrugging defensively, she mumbled: “Well, you two have always been close.”

“We’re friends,” Christina spat, her face flaming hot. “He’s my immediate supervisor. And just so we’re clear, I’m also quite close to his wife.” Curling the chocolate piece in her hands, she glared across the large architects table at her friend. “And I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I would break up a home.” The skin across her cheekbones was blotchy with slashes of angry red coloring.

Jackie had the grace to blush. Tucking her chin up to her chest, she mumbled: “Sorry.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” Christina continued doggedly, forcefully.

“No,” Jackie agreed, smiling apologetically. “Of course you aren’t.” She made a comforting gesture. “I shouldn’t have said that. Only, it’s the way you said it…”

“I wasn’t talking about Mr. Gordman.”

“Okay,” Jackie agreed softly. “Then who?”

Christina made a great huffing sound. “His son!”

And the smile was instantly back on Jackie’s face. “I see.”

Christina’s glare only darkened, but this time Jackie wasn’t the least put off by it. “No. I seriously doubt it.”

“Jason Gordman’s hot,” Jackie said with a slick grin.

“I thought you were supposed to be too besotted with Max to notice things like that?”

Jackie laughed. “True. But I’d met Jason long before Max.”

“Whatever.”

Jackie wiggled her eyebrows. “So, something’s going on with you and the boss’s son?”

Christina’s left eye twitched ever-so-slightly. “What? No. No.”

“No?” Now Jackie looked thoroughly confused. “But you just said—”

Christina sighed.  “Right.”

“I’m confused.”

Christina pressed her lips tightly together before nodding her head once, sharply. “Me too.” Her voice had that faraway sound.

Jackie raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Well, whatever it was must’ve been a real doozy to get the usually so unflappable Christina, well, flapped.”

Pushing the now rather mauled piece of candy into her jacket pocket, Christina folded her arms tightly across her chest. Her eyes wouldn’t look right at Jackie, instead focusing somewhere above her forehead. “He kissed me.”

Jackie’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought you said it was nothing.”

“It was. I, it—he was just teasing.”

“O-kay,” Jackie sounded out slowly. “You two kid this way often?”

“Knock it off already,” Christina pleaded, sparing Jackie an irritated look. “Of course we don’t.”

“So that’s why you’re so flustered,” Jackie said, smiling gamely. “You like him.”

“Oh, don’t be childish,” Christina snapped, her high-heeled shoes picking up pace to march pointedly from Jackie desk to the door and back again. “No, of course I don’t. You’ve met Jason.”

Jackie tilted her head to one side in concentration. “Okay. And he made the first move?”

Christina gave her a dry look. “Yes!”

“Then what do you have to feel stupid about?”

Christina stilled, her hands flitting around her person again—smoothing down her jacket, gesturing emptily. “I just, I told him I didn’t find it funny…”

“Being kissed?”

“Jackie…”

The brunette held up her hands. “I’m just checking in.”

“Yes.”

“Because he offends you?”

Christina’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure…”

“He’s repulsive to you?”

Christina glared harder. “You know that’s not—”

“Because you’ve secretly been dating someone else on the sly?” Jackie smacked the tips of her fingers against the edge of her desk. “You minx.”

“No. I’m not dating anyone.” Christina’s voice was a mastery of frustration.

Jackie nodded. “Then you do like him.”

Christina growled low in her throat.

“Oh just admit it.” Jackie gave her a level look. “Because you’re not hiding it very well anyway.”

And just like that, Christina’s shoulders sagged, her bravado petering out. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Who would I tell?”

“I mean it, Jackie.”

Jackie lost her wry amusement immediately, her face taking on a more somber expression. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”

“Nothing can come of it.”

“Okay.”

“It would be inappropriate.”

Jackie cocked her head to the side. “Would it, though?

“I’m Mr. Gordman’s personal assistant.”

“Yeah…?”

“How would it look, me chasing after his son?”

“Sounds like he was the one doing most of the chasing.”

“Dammit.” Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, Christina inhaled deeply. “You’re not helping me here.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know!” Throwing her hands up in the air, Christina’s face flashed a mesmerizing display of outrage, despair, and desperation.

Jackie whistled. Leaning back in her chair, ankles crossed over the top of her desk, she smiled wolfishly. “You really like him.”

Uncrossing her arms, Christina pointed a finger at Jackie, her hand stabbing at the air aggressively. “You suck.”

“Oh come on,” Jackie said, laughing merrily when Christina turned on the words, her legs taking her smartly out of Jackie’s office. “You’d say the same to me!”

Stubbornly silent, Christina didn’t respond, instead taking herself quickly and sharply back up the stairs, across the crowded bullpen, and to her desk once more. Jackie was right. In her shoes, Christina would have said the same thing. Cut out the bullshit and get straight to the point: the problem was, she did like Jason.

“But that’s just too damn bad,” she muttered darkly to herself as she plopped herself back down in her chair. With a concentration she was far from feeling, she opened up her appointment log for the day, and though her finger shook slightly when she pressed the phone’s intercom button, her voice rang out professionally:

“Mr. Gordman, don’t forget your one o’clock lunch appointment with…”

And just like that, everything went back to normal. Or at least, normal enough. The next couple of days saw Christina staring down the barrel of her usual routine: whatever awkwardness she’d felt with Mr. Gordman that Monday morning seemed to have melted into nothingness. And if her hands shook every time the phone rang—if her fingers hovered over the receiver as she tried to catch her breath, wondering if he was on the other end, and if she felt her heart kick hard against her chest every time someone walked through the threshold into the outer office were her desk was situated, her hands clattering against the keyboard, eyes flying with breathtaking anxiety toward the doorway, well, she tried not to notice.

Only. By Friday, Christina found with every customer on the other end of the phone, with every employee and client that walked past Christina intent on seeing Mr. Gordman, her irritation rose. Her embarrassment swelled. Really, he hadn’t needed to pretend the kiss was so shattering just to spare her feelings. He hadn’t needed to make such a show of wanting to kiss her again if, if…

Not a word. Not a drop-in. Nothing.

Christina frowned. Leaning back in her chair, she stared out the tall windows that covered the top half of the wall directly behind her desk. Spring in Minnesota could be absolutely beautiful. The smell of hot, wet pavement after a rain shower, the glow of yellow and orange flowers popping up all over the city…. Unfortunately, it could also be a washout of bluish grey overcast days. This was one of those days. Across the street, tall buildings stood glumly in the foggy haze of a downcast April morning.

Not a word. Not a drop-in. Nothing.

Letting her head fall against the high back of the chair, Christina allowed herself to miss her mother, if only for a few seconds, as she watched from her twelfth story view the busy walkers bustling in the fine mist below.

It would have been nice to talk to her about everything.

About Jason.

They used to have the best conversations.

To think, Christina had once taken for granted how special those were—how limited they could turn out to be.

Feeling her chest restrict a little on the thought, Christina pushed her chair back from the window with a rough kick. Spinning around sharply, she was just reaching out to steady herself against the desk, when she spotted Jason.

Standing on the other side of her desk.

Smiling wryly at her blank expression—she hadn’t even heard him approach, she’d been so deep in her thoughts—Jason nodded in greeting. “Hard at work, I see?”

Her teeth snapped together. “Spare me.”

He laughed.

“Here to see your father?” She asked pointedly, her finger already going to find the intercom button.

He gave her a funny look. “Who else would I be here to see?”

 

Carnival Lights: Chapter Eight

Christina woke to a bluish morning light wafting through the curtains of the bedroom window. But before she even opened her eyes, the events of the night before flooded her consciousness. She knew immediately that she was in the guest bedroom of Matthew and Mary Gordman. And she remembered explicitly what she’d said to Jason.

That she was attracted to him.

Had been since the moment she’d first seen him.

She’d almost let him kiss her again.

Groaning painfully, she flung her forearm over her still tightly closed eyes.

“Oh God,” she whimpered, sinking disgustedly against the soft mattress underneath her. “What the hell did I say?!” She could feel heat infusing her body, her limbs growing stiff as the image of his face—utter shock and revelation—passed across her mind.

How the hell would she ever face him again? The urge to vomit, to physically be ill, crawled up her throat. It had felt so natural at the time. She hadn’t felt a twinge of regret as she’d assaulted him with the words of her great secret. In fact, she’d felt oddly powerful, hurtling the reality of her feelings at him, calling him out for playing on her vulnerabilities.

No, she hadn’t felt regret. No then. But she did now. A terrible, lowering regret. The kind that usually follows an evening of over-indulgence with alcohol. The kind that comes after the sort of knock-down drag-out fight when terrible, untrue things are said, used to hurt—

What was it about the seductive cover of night that makes nothing of pretense and protection?

“Shit,” she whispered, as tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes. Her chest felt tight, and her breathing came in sharp gasps. “You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot,” she cried. Turning on her side, she curled her legs up to her stomach, huddling into a ball under the covers of her blanket.

How was she ever going to face him again?

With a muted cry of despair, she flung the covers up over her head.

It was the soft knock on the other side of the door however, that reminded her she couldn’t stay like that forever.

“Christina? Are you awake?” Mary’s voice was softly inquiring.

Christina swallowed thickly. “Umm…Yeah. Yes, I’m awake,” she called out, ignoring the slight quiver in her voice and praying it hadn’t traveled through the thick door separating them. The last thing she needed was questions from Mary. “Breakfast is ready.”

Christina blanched. “Oh. Uh, thanks but I’m—I’m not hungry…”

“Nonsense. It’s important to start the day with a hearty meal,” Mary returned, as Christina knew she would. No one said no to Mary; not when it came to food.

Still. She had to try. To sit across the table from Jason, after everything what had transpired the night before, would be interminable. “I, uh, I can’t. I have to get home. To, to change clothes and you know, get ready…”

“Oh posh!” Mary hollered, still speaking through the door (but if she found this to be unusual behavior, she didn’t let on). “Matthew will understand if you need to come in a little late this morning. It was at our insistence that you spent the night, after all.”

And that’s how Christina found herself, uncomfortably dressed in the clothes from the day before, crossing the massive foyer and into the Gordman’s kitchen, some twenty minutes later. Her blonde hair was swept artfully off her freshly scrubbed face, and though her skirt was a little wrinkled and her shirt a little limp, she consoled herself that she’d done she could. Besides, what other choice did she have?

So, proper attire in which to arm herself, Christina took herself in to breakfast.  To say it was an awkward encounter would have been over-simplifying things a bit. She was unusually shy and tentative as she pulled out her seat and asked politely for a piece of toast and a poached egg.

Matthew frowned. Christina was like family. She’d long since stopped acting like a timid guest at their dining table and yet, here she was, practically squirming in her seat. Her eyes remained determinedly fixed on her plate as Jason sauntered into the room behind her, and the fingers holding her fork clenched so hard it was a miracle the damn utensil didn’t bend in half.

And Jason. For his sake, he was quiet and reserved as he filled his plate. The expected joke about Christina’s rumpled appearance never came, and Jason never missed an opportunity to get a rise out of Christina; if there was one thing she was meticulous about it was her grooming. It was almost too easy and yet not a comment was uttered. He chewed his food wordlessly. Only his eyes were watchful on Christina’s averted face, her clumsy movements.

Hell, she almost knocked over her orange juice but other than quickly reaching over to right the glass, Jason had said and done nothing, merely resumed eating as though it were a matter of course. And Christina for all her usual poise, only managed a barely recognizable, pertly polite, thank you.

Matthew’s frown deepened. The lines of his forehead creased.

 

***

 

It was almost ten o’clock by the time Christina showed up to work—having escaped from the Gordman’s house as soon as decency allowed. Beautifully turned out in a tailored suit with a glass-green button down shirt, her feet tucked into black pumps, and her face and hair decked out, Christina marched up to her desk. She should have felt better. This was her power outfit. But she didn’t. She felt like a fraud. Popping her purse determinedly in the filing drawer she reserved for herself, she started up her computer.

Mr. Gordman was already in the office. His private door was firmly shut and for some reason, she was hesitant to knock on it and ask if there was anything he needed. And that was the problem. She shouldn’t have been. It was standard operating procedure, after all. She was his personal receptionist. She pulled a face. This was exactly what she’d been afraid of. This was exactly the problem.

Things were different now.

And not just on her side either. Mr. Gordman had been different that morning, too. Distant. Like he’d known something. But Jason hadn’t said anything. True to his word, he’d kept his mouth shut. And Christina certainly hadn’t let anything slip. And still, breakfast had been an ordeal. The first meal in memory that had been consumed in almost complete silence by the entire family.

There had been an unannounced tension in the air. It had been as undeniable as it had been staunchly ignored.

Mary had looked confused.

Jason had looked—well, actually she wasn’t sure. She’d been careful not to glance his way.

But Mr. Gordman…. He’d looked suspicious. Christina sighed wearily. She supposed he had a right. When he’d gone to bed the night before, everything had been normal. Jason and she had been up to their usual bickering, Christina had been warm and generous with Mary, and then this morning…well, try as she might, Christina had never been much of an actress.

She’d felt the friction in her shoulders, heard the mechanical tone of her voice. She’d seen their eyes on her down bent head, but…

She looked longingly at her boss’s door. Every morning since she’d started, she greeted him with a cup of coffee and a notepad, ready to get a jumpstart on whatever project he had lined up that day. And now, here she sat, like a coward, unwilling to so much as announce her presence. It was supposed to be Jason she was uncomfortable being around. Not her boss. Not Mr. Gordman.

And yet….

It had spread. Which was ironic because it was the sole reason she’d stopped Jason the night before. Because she’d refused to ruin the great job she’d carved out for herself here. She’d refused to ruin the closest thing to a family she had in Matthew and Mary.

She stared blindly at her computer screen. Her fingers lay numb across the keyboard. She should be checking the company emails right now. That was one of the first things she did each morning. But if she did that, she’d eventually reach one that would need to be sent on to Mr. Gordman  for confirmation and that…

With a half strangled sound, she pushed her body away from the desk. With a jerk, she brought herself out of her chair and, indeed, was halfway across the cluttered bullpen before she knew where she was going. Her heels clicked sharply against the concrete flooring, she raced for the staircase on the other side of the building. Within minutes she found herself on the basement floor, her body propelling her frenetically toward the only office down there.

Knocking sharply on the side of the doorway, Christina hardly waited for an answering response before stepping inside the office. A large architect table stood in the center of the room. Multi-colored posters of every shape and size were taped haphazardly to the walls. And sitting in the mess of it all was a slim, dark haired woman.

“Please tell me that after two months of dating, you’ve decided that Max’s charms were entirely overrated?”

Without so much as a flicker of surprise, Jackie looked up the mock she was editing. She grinned. “Hey Christina.”

Christina nodded sharply. “Well?” She waited impatiently for the other woman to speak. A coworker in the graphic arts department, Jackie had recently become something of a good friend to Christina. In fact, Christina had played a rather significant part in her recent love story to a local doctor in the city, Max Thompson. After a traumatic accident on a bus that had sent Jackie to the emergency room, the girl’s had bonded over Jackie’s ensuring infatuation with the doctor who’d saved her life, and all the tumultuous feelings that had come along with it.

Leaning back in her chair, Jackie tapped a finger against her chin contemplatively. “You know, I’m kind of getting used to your particular way of beginning conversations.”

Christina only raised one eyebrow.

Jackie smirked. “You know, without preamble or back-story.”

“One of my many charms, I’m sure,” Christina related, grinning a little herself. Then she straightened. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“No, I haven’t.” Jackie pursed her lips. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to ask his name?”

Christina growled. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“I see.”

“Wipe that grin off your face.”

“No can do, buddy.”

“You suck.”

In answer, Jackie held out a bag of candy. “Want some chocolate?”

Begrudgingly, Christina found herself being lured forward, her hand already reaching for the bag of sweets. “Shot of whiskey would be better.”

Jackie gasped. “What would Mr. Gordman say?” she asked mockingly.

Christina bit her lip, her eyes closing painfully on the unintentional words. The candy fell limply down at her sides.

Jackie pulled her chair upright at that look. “Whoa. Hey. What’s going on?”

Christina smiled thinly. “I’ve done something rather stupid, I’m afraid.”

“I doubt that.”

Christina shook her head.

Jackie’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me.” She pushed her work to one side of her desk. “Now.”

Carnival Lights: Chapter Seven

Jason’s lips were cool. Gasping in surprise, Christina barely knew what was happening before her body was responding, her mouth opening under the hard persuasion of his ministrations. His tongue swept across the inside of her lips, tangling with her own. Her stomach clenched, flipped.

Her hands pressed up against his chest. Falling back against the insistent pressure of his touch, her back sank against the plush cushions of the couch. His left hand was propped up beside her head as he leveraged his body closer to her own; his right hand, however, was cupped against the underside of her jaw, his thumb stoking the edges of her bottom lip.

When his tongue slid against the silky moisture of her upper lip, an instinctive groan escaped from Christina’s lips. Her fingers curled against the fine material of his pullover shirt. Reacting without thought, she caught his lower lip between her teeth, tugging at it gently. Then it was his turn to growl low in his throat. And still he penetrated her mouth—swirling, touching slipping in and out, around and around.

Christina’s heart beat hard against her chest, her senses dizzy as she tasted him…

When she felt his lips slowly break away from hers, at first Christina’s body followed after him. Opening her eyes, she breathed up into his face from underneath a fringe of wet lashes. “Jason…” Her voice came from faraway, dazed with the suddenness of what was happening between them.

He half-smiled down at her in the stillness of the dimly lit room. “And here I always thought you hated me.”

At the words, Christina blanched. Reality crashing against her consciousness, she had just enough time to remember what he’d said just seconds before his lips had captured hers: that he was testing out a theory. Swallowing back a whispered scream, for the second time in as many seconds, Christina’s body moved on impulse.

A strangled sort of scream fall from her lips. Scrambling frantically out from behind him, Christina clambered for her feet. Jason only barely avoided being bulldozed in her mad rush.

Bringing a hand up to her mouth, Christina bit down hard. The sensations of minutes ago now lay cold in her stomach. What the hell had she done—what had she allowed him to do? Scurrying for the doorway, her eyes pinned themselves to the threshold, her body hurling forward.

She only knew she had to escape. To breath. To…oh God!

Her legs shook with the force of her feelings, but she refused to slow down. The hard, humiliating edge of reality pressed against her chest. Something had happened. Something—

“Actually, that’s not quite true,” Jason murmured as she reached the outer edge of the room. His voice sounded oddly lazy in the aftermath of what had just transpired. “Not after the employee Christmas party last year.”

Stopping like a shot at the entryway to the room, Christina’s body stilled at the forbidden words. They swirled loudly in the echo of an otherwise silent room. Her right hand gripped the side of the wall for support at that damning statement. He didn’t need to elaborate on it. They both knew what he meant. Her eyes closed as unbidden, pictures of that night transposed themselves before her eyes.

She saw herself that night, outside her apartment door, large brown eyes staring invitingly up at his. And then….

No. She shook her head of the thought. She promised herself she’d never go back. And until now, she hadn’t. At least, not so she’d admit to even herself.

Throwing her shoulders back straight, she fought for some semblance of pride. Her back to him, at least she was spared the gleam she could only assume shone from his eyes in vindication. She heard her voice speaking as though through an eerie fog. “I had too much to drink that night.”

“Yeah, maybe so,” Jason conceded from too close behind her. And then she felt his hands on her waist, slowly, deliberately turning her back around. She hadn’t heard him approach. “But not tonight,” he reminded her. “You didn’t even touch that glass of whiskey.”

And there it was.

“Ahh,” she murmured harshly. “So that was the reason behind your little science experiment then?” His fingers were still pressed against either side of her waist. She could feel the imprint like a live thing, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of shucking out of his reach.

His eyes widened momentarily at her words.

She laughed, nodding toward the couch. “And this was what, a controlled environment for testing out your theory?” The question was sharp and hard as she threw his words back at him.

But if she’d wanted a reaction, he didn’t give her the kind she desired. Instead, he smiled in an off-kilter sort of way. He even shrugged. “I wouldn’t call what just happened controlled.”

She felt her stomach pinch. “Oh no?”

He grinned wider. “But timing is everything.”

“And you were bored and needed someone to amuse you.”

He chocked his head to one side, as though in serious thought. “I would hardly say I was amused back there.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “Flattered then?”

He shrugged. His very casualness set her teeth on edge. By a woman as beautiful as you? Who wouldn’t be?”

Christina rolled her eyes, but a half laugh escaped out of her mouth all the same. It was just like Jason to do that: make her laugh when it was the last thing she expected to do.

He pulled a face. “Though it still doesn’t explain…”

When he didn’t finish, she felt her eyes narrow. “Explain what?”

“Why you’ve pretended to hate me all these years.”

She jutted up her chin. For some reason, though she shouldn’t have been, she found herself almost enjoying the conversation. “Who said I was pretending?”

He sighed. “Not that old ruse again.” With a charm she really could hate sometimes, he took a threatening step nearer. “Don’t make a liar of yourself twice in one night.”

A quick thread of excitement she couldn’t contain leapt into Christina’s body at the words. Too late, her eyes traveled down to his lips.

He stilled. “Unless?” The word was suggestive, meaningful as he lowered his body closer to hers. When she didn’t side-step out his way, he smiled in a predatory fashion. She was already breathing too quickly, her legs trembling, when his mouth slowly started its descent.

Only, at the last second, she saved herself. Ducking out of reach, she brought a hand up between them, pushing at his chest half-heartedly. “No.”

“Christina?”

“No.” Her voice was firmer now. “This is a bad idea.”

“What?” Frustration lined every letter that word.

“This,” Christina insisted, gesturing between them. Slipping free of his proximity, she forced her feet to step into the hallway, her body moving carefully as she navigated backward toward the staircase.  “It’s a bad idea.”

“Why?”

She scowled, her eyes shifting expressively up the stairs. “You know why.”

He followed her gaze. “Because of my father?”

Her hand cut aggressively through the air. “Of course because of your father!” Christina returned hotly. “He’s my boss.”

“I’m aware.”

“Don’t joke.”

“Then don’t say stupid things.”

Christina made a sound low in her throat. “You wanted to test out your hypothesis?”

“Theory,” he corrected quietly.

“Well, there you go. You figured it out. I’m a fraud,” she informed him. Twin spots of colored dotted her cheeks but she refused to break eye contact.

He was the one to do that. “Hey. That’s not—”

“In fact, I was attracted to you from the very first moment I met you,” she continued him shamefully, tossing the shreds of her pride at his feet mercilessly. She pointed toward the front door. “Right there. I saw you and everything went black.”

He had the grace to look ashamed, his eyes clouding over uncomfortably. “Christina…”

“But your father is my boss.”

“And you think he wouldn’t, what, approve?” Jason asked. “He’s not a snob, Chrissy.”

Her fingers curled into impotent fists. “Don’t call me that!”

He held up his hands. “Sorry. Hey, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “And anyway, it’s not really about your father.”

He scowled. “But you just said—”

“It’s me. I have this thing. Oh, you know,” she said, flicking her wrist artlessly. “For forbidden men. Simply because I shouldn’t have them, I want them. It’s always the same, but it’s not real. You know?” She rambled. “And really, dating the boss’s son? That couldn’t be more clichéd.” She managed one cruel laugh. “So I kept myself to myself. Or, at least I tried to.”

“Jesus.”

She shrugged, one of her hands reaching back the grab tight to the stair rail. She gave him a pointed look. “So There. Now you know the truth. Does that answer all of your questions?” She yawned protractedly. “Because I’m tired and I’d rather like to go to bed now, if you don’t mind.”

His face contorted. “Don’t let me keep you then.”

With a curt nod, she turned on her heel, her knees buckling as she carefully traveled the stairs. Halfway up, however, she stopped and turned to look back at him. He hadn’t moved, his eyes watching her progression speculatively, as though she were a fascinating specimen under his microscope.

“Do me one favor?”

He inclined his head.

She forced the words out stiff lips. “Forget about tonight.”

His response was slow in coming. “Oh, I very much doubt I can oblige you on that.”

He thinly plucked eyebrows rose to meet over the bridge of her nose. “Jason.” His name was a warning.

He shrugged. “The best I can do is promise not to bring it up.”

She stared at him for a moment. The she nodded again.

“And I’ll probably break that promise, anyway,” he added when she would have continued her incline.

Her hands tightened on the balustrade. “Don’t.”

He held up his hands. “Forewarned is forearmed.”