Salem's Sight (14 page)

Not spoiled little daddy’s girl pretty
or having a good hair day attractive, but nice person on the inside
beautiful emanating out. There was something about the sketch that
showed character and I wondered if I could live up to their image
of me.

****

Finding a similar pattern to the one
in the painting was almost too simple. It seems bridesmaid’s
dresses haven’t changed that much over the years. Or at least the
classic ones haven’t. As my mother predicted, the material was
another matter.

Luckily, it was as important to my mom
to get it accurate as it was to me. Which meant we tried fabric
shop after fabric shop, and finally traveled to an exclusive place
not far from Boston.

We ended up making a day of it and did
a little shopping in Fanuel Hall. By the time we made the trek home
our energy levels were low, but we were both so excited to get the
dress made that we went ahead anyway.

Midnight approached and I was so
anxious I could barely stand it. I watched on as my mother slowly,
patiently created a masterpiece.

I didn’t want to rush her or bug her
so that she’d end up making a mistake, but it was making me crazy
just standing there. Finally, when I thought I couldn’t take it any
longer, she finished the dress.

She held it up and we were both barely
breathing. Perfect. It was a perfect match. “Try it on.” She shoved
the dress at me and fled. “I’m going to get the camera. I want a
picture of you in the dress standing next to the
painting.”

“
Good idea.” I gingerly
draped the dress over the back of the chair and stripped down to my
underwear right there in the family room.

No alterations of any kind would need
to be made. It even felt perfect on. I grabbed my white scrunchy
and pulled my hair high on top of my head. I’d have to take some
time with it for the portrait, but for now at least it was up and
out of the way.

My mother stopped in her tracks in the
doorway. “Wow.” Her hand shot up to her chest and she seemed at a
loss for words.

“
I need a mirror.” I headed
for my bedroom in close to a run. When I finally saw my reflection,
the woman in the painting came to life.

My grandmother might as well have been
standing there as I was. The camera flash brought me back to
reality.

“
Come back downstairs so I
can get a picture in front of the painting. You look -
amazing.”

For once I didn’t make a face or get
aggravated because she was complimenting me. Instead, I just
followed her down the stairs, took my place next to the painting,
and then let her fire at will.

After about a zillion pictures, I
reluctantly eased off the dress and thanked my mother with the
tightest hug since the acquisition of Skyler.

It felt good for us to be on the same
side again. Exhaustion enveloped me and I was certain I’d be dead
to the world as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I couldn’t have been more
wrong.

****

I bristled instinctively. Darkness
surrounded me. I tried to adjust my eyes, focus so the
uncomfortable sensation would ease. An icy cold encapsulated my
body and the heaviness pulled me down. Was I outside? Was I
dreaming? What was going on? Think, damn it, think. It didn’t
matter if it was real or not. Something was wrong.

The edginess became stronger and I
knew I couldn’t face this alone. I needed my mother. A fog seemed
to clear and I searched the house room by room. Where was she? Why
couldn’t I find her?

I heard myself calling her name as if
from a distance, first questioning, then a little louder in a
panic.

Materializing like some sort of
hologram, she turned and looked startled. While the seconds slowly
ticked away, that haunting expression seemed frozen in time,
squishing the life out of my heart. Then I heard the gun as I knew
I would. Pop, pop, pop. Three shots just like before, only now I
could see what was happening.

When the third shot fired, my mom’s
body jerked backward as if she had been lifted off the floor. Then
she fell into the abyss, the eternal darkness. I lunged for her,
desperately trying to reach her, but her image slipped away before
my anguished cry ended.

CHAPTER
twelvE

I jumped up in my bed unable to catch
my breath. Just a dream. Nothing to be afraid of. But it wasn’t and
I knew it.

It would happen.

My mother would be shot.

I
saw
it.

I’d been building a wall between my
mother and myself since my father died. It hadn’t been intentional.
It just happened. And now I was going to lose her too. Only now
there would be more guilt because we didn’t simply have a quarrel.
I pushed her away.

All the time that we should have been
getting closer together, comforting each other after the accident,
I’d been pushing her away instead.

I began to sob uncontrollably stuffing
my face in my pillow so she wouldn’t hear. I was practically
suffocating to keep the sound down.

If she heard me she’d be in the room
in a flash to find out what was wrong. So I’d have to be quiet. I
couldn’t let her find out. Not yet anyway. Not until I knew more.
Not until I knew what I could do about it. And besides, how could I
describe what I saw? I mean, really, how do you tell your mom you
just watched her die?

I curled up in the fetal position and
smothered my anguish. While I shed muffled tears my mind focused on
the beyond and I beckoned to the one person who might be able to
give me some insight.

“
Grandma, please,” I
begged. “Help me. There has to be a way to help. Please, help
me.”

“
Stop it.” The voice was
loud and clear. It didn’t matter if no one else could hear it. I
could. I could hear it as well as if she were physically there. I
sat up and looked around my empty room.

It wasn’t an admonishment, but a plea.
She wasn’t mad at me, she was as afraid as I was, and was seeking
my help. “Stop it. You can stop it, Salem.”

Awake. I pinched myself to make
certain. Yup, it was Grandma all right. But what could I do? Could
it be possible? Could I somehow change what was supposed to happen?
How much was free will as opposed to destiny?

I had to find out. I would focus,
research, study, and do anything that I had to so that I could find
the answers I needed.

“
How?” I whispered truly
expecting a response this time. Surely she’d know what to do and
would answer. Skyler broke the silence with a chortle then looked
away from the ceiling.

Looks like Grandma had left the
building.

****

Now I’m not the sort of girl who wakes
up looking perfect. Not even on my best day. And well, after
sleeping for all of about two minutes you could say it wasn’t even
close to my best day. That was apparent the second Mom got a good
look at me.

Have you ever had a truly hideous
apparel moment? Like your white jeans got stained because your
teacher didn’t believe you really had to go to the lav, then got
all offended when you mentioned your period. Or worse, you sat in
chocolate and it looked like you crapped yourself. At moments like
that, even your best friends would say ‘eww’.

That was the way my mother looked at
me when she walked into the room.

“
Good Lord, Salem, you look
like hell. Good thing Robby isn’t painting you today.”

And she was right. I bore no
resemblance to my grandmother at the moment. In fact, my sallow
complexion and sunken eyes made me look more like a relative of
Frankenstein. But still, it wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear.
“Thanks, Mom. It’s nice to know you think I’m attractive,” I said
with the usual sarcasm.

My mother made a face at me. “That’s
not what I meant and you know it. I think you’re beautiful -
normally.” She smiled at her own bit of sarcasm. “Didn’t you get
any sleep last night? The bags under your eyes…” She stopped
mid-sentence the speculation clear on her face.

I didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t
want to tell anyone. If I could keep it to myself maybe it would go
away.

Yeah, right. That’d happen.

She poured a mug of coffee quietly and
handed it to me. “You’ll definitely need this.” Well if not
complimentary at least she was perceptive.

I took the mug from her and sat down
at the kitchen table with my head hung low, dipping my chin
occasionally so my lips could steal a sip. That’s how bad it was. I
didn’t even have the energy to lift the mug to my mouth. My head
continued to hang like the baby dolls with the plastic heads and
the cloth necks.

But I didn’t need to lift my head to
know she was staring. I’d have to say something. If I didn’t she’d
know something was up and would start digging. And she’d never stop
until she hit oil.

I said the only thing I could think
of. “Up late last night studying for a test. Then must’ve been
overtired ‘cause I couldn’t sleep.” I put my head down on the table
and shut my eyes. As long as I didn’t look directly at her I might
be able to pull it off.

I could feel her eyes like lasers
boring a hole through the top of my head. “You didn’t say anything
about a test last night when I was working on the
dress.”

Oh, good. We were about to enter the
questioning phase. I grimaced. This would be tricky. There were
times when I was sure Mom should be in charge of the interrogation
room for the police department.

“
Sort of forgot about it
because of the dress … checked my backpack before I went to bed and
there it was in my agenda, study for science. Why do teachers give
tests on Mondays? It’s a stupid day to have a test. Everyone
forgets during the weekend.” There was nothing like a tirade to
knock someone off track.

It worked. “I thought you hated it
when teachers gave tests on Friday? Then you’d end up staying up
late every Thursday studying for a bunch of tests.”

“
You got me there. I pretty
much hate tests on any day, but the worst are Monday and Friday.
And for the reason we just discussed.” I mumbled the end of that
sentence due to a wide open-mouthed yawn.

Mom put a bowl in front of me and I
reached for one of the boxes of cereal in the center of the
table.

But of course, it couldn’t be that
easy. “And it’s going to be that difficult of a test that you had
to study half the night?”

“
It was past my bedtime
when I took off the dress,” I mumbled. “It’s not like me to blow
off a test. You know that. I just forgot and by the time I
remembered…”

“
You’re right, Salem. It’s
not like you. Not like you at all.” There was something in the way
she said it that made me feel I wasn’t off the hook yet.

I could feel her eyes on me so I
poured some milk in the bowl and started shoveling.

“
How do you eat that
chocolate cereal?” she asked. And it wasn’t the first time she
asked it. Mom and I had completely different tastes when it came to
cereal. She liked things that were healthy and she always put some
kind of fresh fruit in it. I was like my dad. Nothing like a great
big sugar high with a sweet crunchy taste.

To be honest though, since I was
focusing on avoiding the truth, the cereal was tasteless. I
shrugged. “You know me and Coco Puffs.”

“
I sure do.”

Oh not good, not good. Her tone
shouted danger so I kept my eyes lowered and my spoon
going.

“
So why are you eating my
Raisin Bran?”

I swallowed hard and ran my tongue
around the inside of my mouth. How the hell could I have missed
that taste? My eyes opened wide first glancing at the bowl and then
to the box closest to me. She was right; in my nervousness I
reached for the wrong box and was placidly eating a cereal I had
always proclaimed to hate.

Man, I was really screwed.

“
What’s up, Salem?” she
asked. I could feel her eyes locked on mine like a target. Ten,
nine, eight,…

“
Nothing, really.” I
wriggled in my seat like a fish against a net. Captured. No daring
escape possible.

“
No lies. Did you have a
bad dream?”

I dropped the spoon down in the bowl
with a plunk and some of the milk flew over the edge, escaping
easier than I’d be able to. I put my left hand over my eyes so I
wouldn’t have to look at Mom. “Yeah,” I whispered. “It was the
worst.”

She came up behind me and started
stroking my hair. “You should have woken me up, honey.”

My eyes started watering and I held
back for as long as I could, until finally a sob broke forth and
suddenly I was all out crying and not able to stop.

My mother put her arms around my
shoulders and gently kissed the top of my head. “Let it out, baby.
You need to let it out. You’ve kept everything bottled up since the
accident.”

I stopped crying and pulled away. I
just stared at her for a moment until it dawned on me. She thought
I had dreamt of the accident. Of the past.