The Break-Up Psychic (28 page)

Again, Jo looks briefly to Hart before receiving his go-ahead, then pours more of the amber liquor into my glass. This time I hold the whiskey in my mouth for a moment, allowing the strong current to engulf me before swallowing. I relish the burn as it travels down my throat.

“I’ll be in the back. You two holler if you need anything.” Jo places the whiskey bottle on the bar in front of Hart and leaves us alone, disappearing through the kitchen door.

I turn my glass slowly, pressing down against the worn wood of the bar as I’ve seen Hart do several times before. He’s quiet beside me, waiting for me to say the first words. I’m not sure why I came here. I guess somewhere in my subconscious I knew I’d find him here, and I can’t deny there’s a strong desire within me to burden Hart with my story about how Sam betrayed my faith in him. It’s a story he’s familiar with, after all.

“Why,” I begin, continuing to turn my glass in my hands, “am I always on the losing side?”

Hart harrumphs next to me, shaking his head, his chin dropping to his chest. “It’s not a game. There are no winners, no losers.”

“But that’s not really true, is it? You gambled with love and you lost. You’ve been coming to this God awful place for decades, and what do you have to show for it?”

I know my words are harsh, and I want them to be. I’m so angry, so tired of trying to find love, only to end up the loser. My body feels old sitting in this dark musty place. I feel washed-up, thrown away. If Hart were to tell me right now he walked into the bar this morning a thirty-year old man, I would believe him. Regret and sadness have a way of aging you in a way the years never could.

“Listen here,
darlin
’. No one gambles expecting to lose. You see something you want, you need to get after it, no matter the trouble, no matter the consequences. If you don’t, well, you might as well not live in the first place.”

“And what are you living for? What are you waiting for?”

Hart sighs into his chest then lifts his head, his gaze landing on the whiskey bottle in front of him. I can tell by his body language that he’d like to pour himself another glass, but he resists. “There’re some things in this life worth waiting for, and that woman in there’s one of them,” he says, gesturing to the kitchen door.

“And if she never comes around?”

“It don’t matter. She knows how I feel, and I made my peace with my choices a long time ago. Love isn’t temporary, and it doesn’t lessen over time. When you give your heart away, there
ain’t
no
gettin
’ it back. Simple as that.”

I run my fingers through my hair and rest my forehead against my palm, my elbow against the curved surface of the bar. “I can’t do it. I’m not strong like you. I can’t live my life like this, always getting hurt.”

Hart turns in his seat to face me, his arthritic hand gently grabbing my shoulder. “Nothing worth having is ever easy to come by.”

I can’t stop the tears from forming in my eyes, and when Hart squeezes my shoulder, I shake beneath his touch, releasing the ache inside. My tears are hot and thick, sliding down my face. Sam, I’ve lost Sam. The memory of his touch on me, the feel of his scruffy face against the softness of my skin, is too much to bear. My alarm bells are silent but my heart is loud, hammering in my chest, breaking its silence and confirming what I haven’t allowed my mind to admit. I love him.

Hart sits with me, patiently waiting as I get control of myself, his presence a reassurance that I will survive this. I know now the feelings I had for Tim were not really love. I know that, because losing Tim felt like being hit in the gut, but losing Sam feels like being torn apart.

“You’ll be alright,” Hart says, passing a napkin to me. “It may not feel like it just now, but you will be.”

I wipe my eyes and nose with the napkin and take a deep, shaky breath. “Do you promise?”

“I do.”

“It’s crazy, really. I feel like I’ve lost something I’m not sure I ever really had.”

“Don’t be so sure. He was pretty torn up the other night after you ran out on him. I think he’s as much in love with you as you are with him.”

I release another breath and shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think there’s any going back after this morning.”

Hart releases me and pushes himself away from the bar, stretching out each leg before getting to his feet. “Ellie, don’t let your past write your future. Learn from my mistakes.”

Hart moves behind me and walks slowly to the opening in the bar, passing through the small space before pushing on the swinging kitchen door. He looks back at me, smiles, and winks one creased eye before disappearing inside. I’m left sitting alone in the vacant bar, exhausted, hurt, and confused. Sam’s name runs through my mind and I wrap my arms around myself because there’s no one left to comfort me.

I’ve always thought of myself as a little bit psychic. That I’m able to foresee heartbreak so I can prepare myself for it and steel myself against it. But sitting here now, alone in this bar, I know what I really am is a fool. There is no warning system. No way to foresee who you fall in love with and no way to stop yourself from falling. I should’ve trusted my heart to guide me, but I allowed my insecurities, uncertainty, and old memories to lead me from one bad decision to another. If Hart’s story has taught me anything, it’s that love is really about having faith. Faith in yourself, faith in others, and faith that when all is said and done, it’ll be worth it.

“Oh my goodness, can you believe I’m a bride?”

“Hi, Mama.” I set the suitcase down on my mother’s front porch and let her engulf me in one of her bone-crushing hugs. She rocks me back and forth and for once, I’m happy to let the hug go on for as long as she’s willing to give it. I inhale her perfumed hair and relax into the embrace which is better for a broken heart than any bottle of whiskey or punch to the nose could ever be.

“Oh, Ellie, I am so excited you’re finally here. I can’t wait for you to meet Vernon but he’s gone at the moment. A medical emergency,” she says, nodding her head with great importance.

“Sounds serious,” I say, hoisting my suitcase inside the house behind her.

“Well, that’s just the sort of thing I’m going to have to learn to deal with now that I’ll be the wife of a doctor.”

I don’t want to rain on her parade, so I’m going to let the fact that Vernon has a D.D.S. after his name rather than an M.D. slide. My mom leads me through the cozy, eclectic house to a guestroom at the back of the hallway. The walls are lined with Navajo relics, family pictures, and the occasional framed piece of artwork, most of them created by me in grade school. The guestroom is decorated in soft yellows with cream and sage accents. I set my bag down and take in the sight of my mother who’s radiating happiness.

“You look so happy, Mama.”

“Oh, I am, I’m practically bursting with it,” she exclaims, reaching out to hold my hands. “And how are you, sweetheart? Are you still seeing that guy Luanne told me about?”

The mention of Sam brings a strong and unwelcome image of the last time I saw him to my mind. In the days following our confrontation in front of Tim’s building, I’ve come to realize that the look on his face, the one which unsettled me so much at the time, was a look I should’ve spotted straight away. It was betrayal. I can’t stop my face from falling, can’t hide from my mother the emotions which are still so raw.

“Oh, honey, what’s the matter?” She embraces me again, holding me close to her as I do my best to control the sob that’s slowly overtaking me.

I shake my head back and forth and pull away from her, not allowing any more tears to fall. “It’s nothing.”

“It most certainly is not nothing. Look at you. You look as though you’ve come to attend a funeral rather than a wedding,” she says, moving her face down so she can try to look me in the eyes.

I take in a deep breath and raise my head, doing my best to slap a stoic, though fake, smile on my face. I’m not going to ruin my mother’s wedding. “Really, Mama, I’m fine. Anyway, this weekend is about you and Vernon, so let’s just focus on that. Where’s your dress? Why don’t you show it to me?”

My mother crosses her arms and adopts the stance of one preparing for battle. I’ve seen this look many times. It means,
‘I’m older, tougher, and smarter than you, so do as I say.’

“Eleanor Susan O’Keefe, you will tell your mother this instant what in the name of Hades is going on.”

I turn, defeated, and plop onto the mattress. I run a hand over the soft cotton of the faded bedspread, trying to figure out where to begin. “I fell in love, Mama.”

“Well, that sounds like a pretty good start,” she says, coming to sit on the bed next to me.

“No,” I shake my head, “it’s not good. In fact, it’s pretty much the most awful thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“
Psh
, that’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

I look up at her and wonder how she kept it together so well after my dad left us. “How’d you survive it?”

“Survive what?”

“When Dad left. How’d you get on with your life, knowing it wouldn’t ever be as good as it once was?”

My mother smiles sweetly at me, shaking her head and reaching for my hand. “Oh, baby, is that what you think? That I haven’t been happy all these years?”

I open my mouth to tell her yes, but she’s smiling so sincerely at me, it feels like a foolish answer. Any sadness in her countenance isn’t for her, it’s aimed at me. “You were alone for so long and—”

“And you thought I was just some sad old sack, pining after your father for the last couple of decades?” She looks on the verge of laughter and, quite frankly, I’m failing to find the humor in this conversation. “Ellie, your father and I loved each other once, there’s no denying it. But when he left, he left the only part of that relationship that was really worth hanging onto. He left me with you.”

“But you loved him. I remember the morning he left you were crying. You were on the floor and you were devastated, I know you were.”

“Well,” starts my mother, awkwardly, “I was sad, of course I was. The man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with up and left me for a twenty-three year old S-L-U-T.”

“Mama!” I’m shocked. My mother’s never spelled out anything so vulgar in her entire life.

“What? She was. There’s no point in pretending otherwise. She slept with half the teaching staff at your elementary school. We used to call her ‘Ms. Gets-Around’ instead of Ms.
Getsarnd
.”

“Really?” I laugh.

“Oh yes,” she says, nodding her head and allowing a small smile to play on her lips at the memory. “She was quite popular, I assure you.”

“Yeah but, Mama, she still stole your husband.”

“Ellie, she didn’t steal anything that didn’t want to be taken. I should’ve been more honest with you when you were growing up. Your father and I, we loved each other, we did, but we weren’t meant for one another. I knew it, he knew it, and we were able to fake it for a few years. In the end, well, I think we both knew it wasn’t going to work out. If your father hadn’t walked away when he did, I’m not sure either one of us would’ve gotten a second chance at finding real love.”

I’m trying to process what she’s telling me. For years I’ve been placing all the blame for my parent’s breakup on my father, on his infidelity. Now I’m being asked to see things from another perspective, and I don’t know how to feel about it.

“But, Mama, he betrayed you.”

My mother turns her face toward me, and I see no resentment or hurt in her eyes. “Maybe he did, but he’s also given me another chance to know what love is and, in my own way, I’ve come to be grateful to him for that.” She squeezes my hand before releasing me and sits back, her feet crossed and relaxed before her.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ve based my entire pursuit of happily ever after on your example. You always tell me to guard my heart and not give it away too easy, to listen to my inner voice,” I accuse, thinking of the alarm bells.

“What can I say?” she says, shaking her head comically. “You can try to avoid getting hit by a car but if you’re standing in the middle of the street, you’re
gonna
get run over eventually.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I stare, wide-eyed, at my mother. She sounds like she needs a straitjacket, not a wedding dress.

“Isn’t that clever? Vernon’s got a little desk calendar with all these funny sayings. But you have to admit, it’s got a ring of truth to it.” She shakes her head importantly and gets to her feet, putting an end to the conversation and, hopefully, her temporary insanity. “Now, do you want to see my dress? I went for a yellow hue instead of the traditional white. I figure if my grown daughter’s giving me away, there’s no use in pretending I can get away with ivory.” She winks at me and exits the room, knowing I’ll have no choice but to follow her.

I stand and move away from the bed, reaching out to steady myself on a chair placed in front of a little roll-top desk. There’s a picture, framed and freshly dusted, sitting on the small upper desktop. It’s me with my parents. We’re each holding up an ice-cream cone and I’m sandwiched between them, my face covered in brown chocolate as I smile wildly into the camera.