Salem's Sight (13 page)

Berkley and I both looked at the woman
who didn’t seem much cleaner than the house, and expected her to
slither off to another room to get Madame Charlotte.

She didn’t.

Instead, she guided us into what
should have been the living room and pointed to a long table. She
motioned to the chairs indicating we should sit. At this point I
was wondering if she was mute, but who knows maybe she thought it
added to the mystique?

Then she gave us a sheet of paper with
rates and suddenly I felt a little speechless myself. Okay, so this
was going to cost. The cheapest thing on the list was the short
palm reading (as opposed to the long one) –fifteen minutes for
fifteen dollars.

Berkley looked at me and shrugged,
evidently she lost her voice too.

“
So ladies, are you both
wanting to know about your futures?” Charlotte asked.

I was a little surprised to actually
hear her voice, I’m not sure what I had expected, but the
high-pitched squeaky sound that came from her body seemed
incongruous and did nothing for her credibility.

Berkley and I looked at each other
again, each waiting for the other to speak. Finally, I figured
since it was my problem, I’d have to be the one to present it.
“Um... It’s not so much the whole future we’re interested in.
Actually we need help with a question.”

“
Say no more,” she said
theatrically with a wide arm gesture. “You’re here for the same
reason any woman comes here. You want to know about Mr. Right,” and
she smiled as if she had us dead on.

Berkley made a face and I used all the
focus I had to impart what we were really there for.

She didn’t get the message.

It took all of about three seconds to
realize that Madame Charlotte should have been called Madame
Charlatan.

Once again Berkley to the rescue. “Can
we keep a copy of these rates? We were really only here to see if
we could buy a reading for a birthday present.” Madame Charlotte
smiled and went toward the table that held the rates and reached
into a drawer for a gift certificate.

“
But we don’t have the
money with us today. We’ll be back though, that is if we can get a
card.”

Madame Charlotte stared like she
didn’t believe it at first, but since we didn’t have money to spend
today she picked up a card and handed it to Berkley. “Sure, I can
make out a gift certificate any time you want.”

“
Great, we’ll be back some
time next week.” Berkley and I both jumped up and made a beeline
for the door.

“
Still think it was a
brilliant idea?” she asked when we were outside and out of
earshot.

I laughed. “Well it would have been if
she had actually been psychic. I wonder how many people claim to be
psychics that aren’t and how many really are and hide the
fact?”

There were probably more situations
like that then not. I mean, I so didn’t want anyone to know, but
I’d seen kids in the past pretend that they had special
powers.

“
Good question. Not one
we’re likely to find the answer to though. Think we should look for
another?”

There wasn’t any point. We didn’t need
to go on a psychic seeking wild goose chase.

“
No. I’ll just have to see
what happens the next time I dream.”

I rubbed the cameo that I was starting
to wear all the time and the word ‘focus’ echoed through my
head.

“
Berkley, what did you just
say?” I asked knowing full well that the voice hadn’t been
hers.

“
I asked if you wanted to
see another psychic and you said no.”

“
You didn’t say anything
after that?”

She flung her leg over the side of her
bike and half sat on the seat while her other foot rested firmly on
the ground. She seemed to think about it before it dawned on her
that if I hadn’t heard her, then I must have heard someone
else.

“
No. Why? Did you hear
something after that? Because if you did, then you’ll have moved
beyond the dream state. You heard the popping in your sleep. You’re
not sleeping now.” The excitement in her voice was
tangible.

I didn’t want to encourage it though.
Who knows what I thought I heard. Maybe it was just my conscious.
So I lied. I was getting good at it. “No, I didn’t hear anything
else. I just thought you said something and I missed
it.”

She looked at me like I was losing it.
More than likely I was.

CHAPTER
eleven

I can’t even explain my mother’s
reaction to the portrait of my grandmother. There were so many
stages – first it was shock. I’m not sure why, because I told her
about the painting before she saw it. I mean, unlike me, at least
she had a heads up.

Then her eyes began to fill up and she
went through the mushy stage thinking about her mom, young and
vibrant in the portrait – and now gone. She wiped her eyes and
gained control over her emotions, then began to look at the
portrait more critically.

This I especially watched, being a bit
prejudiced in Robby’s favor. I mean, it might have been his
great-uncle that painted it, but Robby’s paintings were the exact
same style and just as good, so I knew if she liked this one, she’d
enjoy Robby’s work too.

“
I never realized how much
you look like my mother.”

I’d been hoping for gushing
compliments on the painting. “Weird, isn’t it?”

My mom glanced back to me. “I always
thought you resembled me a little more than your dad, but you look
much more like Grandma than you do me.”

“
You never noticed it
before? You must have seen pictures of your mom when she was
young.” I mean, hello, how could she not have known?

“
Sure, but none of them
were exactly… I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. In this painting
at the exact age that you are now… it’s just closer of a
resemblance than I’ve ever seen. Maybe it’s the painting rather
than an old black and white faded photo. It’s so life-like.” She
admired the painting a few more seconds. “Any chance he’d be
willing to sell this?”

I knew she’d want it. I wanted it
myself. But I also knew what it meant to Robby. “Not a chance. But
maybe we can talk him into making a copy.”

I told her the history behind the
photo and was surprised to see she didn’t know all Gram’s secrets.
So much for the tight relationship she swore they had.

Then I felt guilty for thinking that.
I’m sure they were close. It’s probably just not the thing that
comes up in everyday conversation. Especially since that part of
Grandma’s life had been over for a long time.

Then I thought about my mom and dad.
“Mom, you didn’t have any long forgotten fiancé before Dad, did
you?”

She took her hands and messed up my
hair the way you’d do with a child. “No, I was never actually
engaged, but I had a few steady relationships before your dad.” She
smiled and I wondered for a second who she was thinking
of.

“
Once I met him, I didn’t
have eyes for anyone else. It was the same for your dad, except he
was seeing someone else at the time. And it was fairly serious, at
least on her part. He broke it off after he met me.”

“
That’s harsh. I feel bad
for the girl.”

“
Don’t. Last I heard she
went on to become a doctor, married a plastic surgeon or something
and still looks like she’s twenty.”

We laughed but I knew from her
expression that wasn’t the only reason she considered the woman
lucky. Her husband wasn’t dead. I knew my mom didn’t care about
looking younger or having a big money career. She just wanted her
husband back and that was the one thing she couldn’t
have.

I changed the subject. “Wait until
Robby does the portrait. Can you imagine seeing them side-by-side?
He’s awesome Mom.”

“
Hmm… He’s awesome or his
painting is?”

Leave it to my mother to notice
semantics. I couldn’t help it. I actually felt myself blush.
“Both.”

“
Come on, spill it girl.
Tell me all about him,” she said as she sort of elbowed me in the
arm.

“
You’ll find out soon
enough. He’s coming over after supper tomorrow to do some quick
sketches. I figured it’d be a chance for the two of you to meet and
then you’ll have some sort of idea how long it will take to create
a dress like the one in the picture.”

I felt guilty saying it like that.
Not, ‘Will you make a dress for me?’ I’d just stated it like she’d
put aside everything she had to do and make a dress because she
knew how and because I wanted one. The strange thing is I not only
knew she’d do it, but also knew she wouldn’t complain about it
either.

That’s just how Mom was. She wanted to
be involved and got souped whenever I let her.

“
We could go to the fabric
store tonight. I should be able to get a similar pattern for a
bridesmaid dress. It looks pretty simple. The tough part will be
trying to find fabric similar in shade and texture.”

My mother hadn’t looked this excited
since she had to sew my little lamb costume for the first grade
play. But if I had to be honest, I was keyed-up too. There was a
link being formed between my mother, my grandmother, and myself.
The project bound the three of us together tighter than we’d ever
been before. Strange, since my grandmother was dead and
all.

****

The night Robby came over I changed my
outfit three times and still wasn’t happy with what I had on.
Stupid really. Robby had seen me at school and would know that I
was wearing something different. Nothing like saying ‘I’m trying to
impress you.’

And of course there was the other
reason – he was only sketching my head and neck – my outfit had
nothing to do with these sketches, which were just for him to get
angles and expressions.

I’d never been sketched before so I
really didn’t know what it entailed and didn’t much care. I only
knew he was coming to my house and wouldn’t be taking his eyes off
me. Now let’s face it, how could it get much better than
that?

While I was trying on every outfit in
the closet my mother was going on a cleaning rampage. You’d have
thought the house was going to be inspected. It was weird because
she normally didn’t go this spastic about meeting a potential
boyfriend. If anything, she was usually the one to do the
inspecting.

When the doorbell finally rang there
was enough nervous energy to make the first few minutes a little
uncomfortable. Robby calmed us both with the same reassuring voice
his father used with his patients. I wonder if he learned that from
his dad? Or was it just inherent and inherited? Either way, ten
minutes in and that awkward newness evaporated, and we were all
relaxed with each other.

Robby looked around for the best light
and settled his easel down near the large picture window in the
living room. There was tract lighting overhead and he had me turn
it to the highest setting.

Mom fixed my hair the way Grandma had
worn it all those years ago in the painting. Rob tilted my head
into the position he desired then stepped behind the
easel.

It was a little like playing
peek-a-boo. Every so often I’d catch sight of his eyes peeking to
the side of the sketchpad then they’d disappear behind it. I’d
wait, anxiously, almost breathlessly until his eyes peered back at
me again.

I have to admit it was a little
uncomfortable knowing I was being more than just looked at. I was
being studied.

He scrutinized the curve of my neck,
the lines of my face. Analyzed my features so that he knew them
better than I did myself. Another connection built between Robby
and me. A kind of intimacy I’d never felt with any other
boy.

Instinctively, I brought my hand up to
touch the necklace and felt an odd sort of peace.

“
Eh, um, don’t change the
pose, - although,” he stopped and thought for a second. “I like
that one.”

He said the words softly and they
surrounded me like a caress. Stepping back he turned the page on
the sketchpad and started another. Quickly, intently his arms
flailed and I could hear his breath. It was as if he needed to
hurry or I’d disappear from view.

A few minutes later he turned the page
again and started another sketch of the same pose. He did a series
of quick five-minute sketches telling me to turn my head this way
and that and suddenly stopped like the wind had been let out of his
sails.

“
I think that’s enough to
get started with,” he said as my mother walked into the room. She
must have been hovering around nearby, most likely with her ear
plastered to the wall just waiting for the right moment.

She walked directly to the easel and
gasped. “Robby, it’s beautiful.”

“
I’d say realistic, but I’d
be patting myself on the back.”

“
Very realistic,” my mom
said as I walked over to get a glimpse of the
preliminaries.

You know those defining moments? This
was one of them. When I looked at the sketch I saw myself as Robby
saw me and as my mother saw me, and for the first time in my life I
felt - beautiful.