Adelaide Upset (6 page)

It was of a party or a
picnic, a few people milling about the frame, but one couple stood
out, both laughing. The girl’s head was thrown back, her pose
carefree and happy, one hand resting, no, caressing, the man’s
chest. Wait, not a man, a boy really, and I could barely believe
it, but it was Lucas. A much younger Lucas, and he was laughing
too, his hand on her waist, staring down at her with a wide smile,
one such as I had never seen.

They were magnetic, not just to each other,
but to the viewer too. I could imagine whoever had taken the
picture was unable to resist, seeing them together in that moment,
knowing it was something to save.

I wanted to tear the
picture to pieces. It provoked emotions I didn’t want to examine,
petty feelings that only inspired my worst self. Quickly growing
overwhelmed, I willed myself calm, a trick of sorts I’d been
working on for some time.

So what if he kept a
picture of an old girlfriend? He hadn’t tried to hide it. I mean,
the window seat wasn’t exactly sneaky, though it was a bit odd. And
so what if she had red hair? It didn’t matter. I continued to sooth
myself, rejecting the urge to crumple the picture and instead, put
it back where I’d found it. Calmly I shut off the lights and
climbed back into bed. I only allowed myself one bitter thought
before I closed my eyes: Thanks, Francesca, for the stellar
advice.

I didn’t think I’d fall
asleep, but I did. The nightmares came, only this time it wasn’t my
fear of the well that drove them.

I didn’t feel any better
the next morning, but the shock was past and I was able to think
clearly. I wouldn’t let Francesca’s paranoia and suspicion muddy
the waters of my relationship. When Lucas got back from his trip,
I’d simply ask him about the picture. The end, no drama.

In the meantime I had some
separate concerns to deal with. My shift started at one, so I had a
few hours to kill before work. And I knew just how to spend
them.

Nancy Bristow was
partially/mostly responsible for my ability to see ghosts. She had
foisted her dead lover’s ring on me, and with it, his ability. But
I’d gotten over her duplicity, and now I went to her with my
unconventional problems.

She owned the Parlor, a
little shop located in downtown St. Simons, wedged right in the
thick of things. It wasn’t far from the lighthouse or the pier on
Mallery Street, and as tourists loved to walk the waterline between
the two, parking was a nightmare. Eventually, after much circling,
a space opened up. A perfect spot right in front of Nancy’s shop. I
gunned it, driving in nose first and stopping a bit crooked. My
ancient Chevy hacked a few times, spit up a huff of black smoke,
and promptly died from overexertion.

The station wagon, which
had been waiting in the other lane with its turn signal on, honked
in outrage. I shrugged at the family, knowing they wouldn’t have
had time to hang a U-turn and parallel that boat before someone
snatched the spot. If not me, someone else. The teenage boy in the
back seat, feeling rebellious, threw me a black look, along with
the finger. He would probably sneak off later to key my car. I
highly doubted I would even notice. The mismatched paint jobs were
older than I was, so my car looked like a green piece of shit
anyway.

The Parlor was open, the
easel out front welcoming walk-ins and advertising for a variety of
psychic readings. The door jangled as I stepped through, the light
bleeding away into the dark, dust covered wood. I guess they were
going for a haunted mansion feel, or maybe stark and mysterious?
The only bit of warmth was a single dangling lamp; it hung over the
front desk, shedding buttery soft light. Nancy was waiting for me
there, highlighted by the glow.

“
Did the cards tell you I
was coming?”

“
No, dear. I heard your
car from two blocks away. Would you like to go upstairs and have
some tea?”

“
If you can be spared, but
I don’t want tea.”

Nancy lived above her shop
in airy little apartment that was quite charming. The place was
filled with delicate handmade creations, potted plants, hanging
dried herbs, and cats. Alright she only had the one, but it was
black. In addition, she wore shapeless clothes, often swishy
ankle-length skirts, and never did anything with her hair, so it
was always a frizzy mess. The fact that she was something of a
hippie combined with her ability to use any deck of cards as a form
of divination made me think of her as a modern day
witch.

“
I’ve been searching
through Percy’s old things,” she said as we settled in around the
kitchen table. “I haven’t come across anyone with empathic
abilities. I’m sorry, Adelaide.”

Percy, or Percival, was
the aforementioned dead lover whose gift I’d inherited. He’d known
a lot of people like us before his death, and I’d been hoping Nancy
could find someone with gifts similar to mine. Someone who could
teach me to control my empathy, or maybe understand my purpose in
relation to the ghosts. But it looked like I was destined for
disappointment.

Nancy was upset, she’d
wanted to help. The fine wrinkles beneath her eyes deepened along
with her frown.

“
No, it’s alright,” I
assured. If she’d found someone, then I would have to trust a
stranger with my secrets. “It’s better this way.”

“
Can I do a reading for
you?” It was up to me, her tone was mild, without coercion, but I
knew she wanted to.

“Sure,” I sighed.

She smiled, pivoting in
her chair to open the china cabinet’s drawer and extract a large
pack of tarot cards. She handled them well, her fingers moving like
a posh gambler and not the slightly overweight, middle-aged woman
she was.

As she began to flip them
over one by one, I asked, “Isn’t the person you’re doing the
reading for supposed to choose their cards?”

“
It’s not necessary.” I
knew it wasn’t necessary, but I kind of wanted to anyway.
Understanding the hint, she paused, fanning the cards out under my
chin. “Go ahead then, pick the last one.”

I selected a card, it felt
thick and waxy, but as it slid free two others slipped out with it,
dropping to the table. “This is my card,” I said, passing it to
her. “Those two were accidents,” I added, about to sweep them into
the deck she’d just set aside.

“
No, leave them. They’re
part of the reading now.”

Laying out the first card,
she put it a little to her left. The picture featured an orange
creature, potbellied and horned, with a fondness for chained
nudists. He was making the Spock sign.
Great
, I thought,
the devil
. Nancy
was always assuring me that the cards had a host of meanings,
rarely literal. Death didn’t mean death, etc. etc. But let’s be
honest, the devil card? That couldn’t be good.

Next went the knight of
swords, the one I’d chosen, and she moved it parallel with the
devil, but a little to the right. “That’s a good card, huh?” I
suggested, leaning around the table to get a better look.
Predictably it was a knight, full suit of armor, white horse and
upraised sword, charging into battle. “Does he represent a real
person?”

“Yes,” Nancy murmured, only half
listening.

“
I bet he represents
someone good-looking,” I guessed, thinking the knight on the card
was handsome in that wholesome and boring sort of way.

“It could be a woman,” Nancy said. “I’m not
sure yet.”

She slid the hermit card
between the devil and the knight, only she kept it horizontal
instead of vertical. The gray cloaked figure was thoughtfully
downcast, but with the card on its side, it hovered, creepy and
unsettling.

“That’s you,” Nancy said.

Of course it
was
.

“
The hermit is withdrawn,
in search of answers, needing peace and quiet,” she continued. “In
reverse the hermit is distrustful and shortsighted, retarded from
progress and held back by the past. You represent both aspects of
the hermit, so your card is neither up nor down. To your left is
the devil, a greedy and selfish person. You must be careful,
Adelaide, this person will hurt you.”

She moved another major
arcana card, the wheel of fortune, so it overlapped the devil and
the hermit in reverse. “The devil plots against you. Past wrongs
committed against another will now come back to haunt you,” she
recited, tapping the card lightly. Nancy picked up the last two
cards, turning one upside down as she looked them over. “Did you
see which one landed first?”

I shook my head. “Does it really
matter?”

“
The knight represents
someone you know, and both of these cards define your relationship
with that person, the tie between you. The two of cups can mean
love, reunion, or forgiveness, but always the start of a new
relationship.”

The card pictured a couple, both of them
standing under a pissy looking winged lion. I immediately thought
of Lucas and our new status as boyfriend and girlfriend.

Nancy showed me the other
card. “The five of cups in reverse is all about emotional upheaval.
Separation. Unbearable heartache...”

Considering the picture, the timing...
“Shit.”

She began to pick up the
cards, wanting to pack them away, as if she could erase the whole
reading. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I’d usually smudge a
reading like that to be more upbeat, but I thought it was better
for you to be warned than leave happy.”

“
I would have known if you
were lying,” I reminded. She was too honest to get one past me, her
guilt would ring loud. “So, someone is out to get me, and my happy
relationship is about to fall apart?”

“
It really depends on what
card came first,” she explained. “Since we don’t know, it could
either mean the destruction of a current relationship, or the
mending. Perhaps you will reunite with someone?” The questioning
tone of her voice asked if that was even a possibility.

Was there anyone that I was ‘separated’ from
that I could ‘reunite’ with? Holy shit... my family!

Nancy must have seen something dismal
written on my face, because she rushed to reassure me. “Maybe it
means a break-up after all.”

“That’s not helping!”

“
It’s not necessarily a
romantic love. It could mean the break-up of a friendship.” Shoving
the deck back into the drawer, she shut it with a small slam. “And
like I said, that card doesn’t always represent a man. It could be
a strong woman.”

Apart from Nancy I only
had one female friend. Francesca. She and I had had a falling out
over Reed Wallace. She’d gone a bit crazy, but that was past... or
was it? Reed Wallace had just returned, only for a few hours, but
what if he came back for good? She’d lose her mind to him again;
such was the power of his charisma, his unnatural charm.

“
Ugh,” I moaned, dropping
my head onto the table. It was all so... vague.

“
Honestly, Adelaide, I’m
more concerned with the person who wants to hurt you. Do you know
who that might be?” Nancy pressed. “Are you in trouble?” She was
worried, but then, she always was.

I wanted to tell her,
knowing she’d help me if she could. And wasn’t that why I’d come?
For help. To unload my suspicions concerning Demidov’s diary and
the reoccurring nightmares. But she’d just confirmed my worst fear,
that any knowledge in that regard was dangerous. It had gotten
Theodore Dunn murdered, and nearly me too. I couldn’t involve her,
it wouldn’t be fair.

“
Nope,” I lied. “No
trouble and no clue, I haven’t the foggiest idea why someone would
want to hurt me.”

I shouldn’t have gone into
work after that reading. It put me in a foul mood, and I suppose,
in retrospect, I was something of a bitch that day. I arrived a
little late, expecting Ben to yell about it, but he didn’t even
notice. He was too busy getting serenaded.

Slightly behind
Sterling’s, perched just inside the motel’s lot was a gigantic oak.
Spanish moss dripped from each branch, a lazy curtain that swung
softly in the wind. Canopied below, hiding in the shade, was a
picnic table. Unlike the rest of us, Ben preferred that spot (even
in the dead of summer) to the office and its small comforts, namely
the wheezing air conditioner.

He sat there now, only he
wasn’t alone. Sprawled along the tabletop, guitar in hand, was a
guy my age, early to mid twenties and no older. With natural
sun-kissed hair and skin he looked like a young Brad Pitt, though a
lot less mysterious. He was the type to wear his heart on his
sleeve, emotions exposed. I hated the type.

He was singing as I
approached. He had a pleading voice, it overlapped the simple
chords very well, but for some reason that only annoyed me
more.

“
What’s this?” I asked,
waving a hand between them as I approached. “What’s going on
here?”

Ben was feeling distinctly embarrassed, but
his face only betrayed slight traces of shame. He covered it well,
blustering up for a big fight. “Something wrong with your ears?” he
sneered. “It’s a song, that’s what.”

“
You’re having a stroke,
aren’t you?” I asked with pretended worry, egging him on. “That’s
why you’re being so erratic, you’re
dying
.” I suppose it occurred to
me then that Ben wasn’t the only one who enjoyed a good fight.
Relentlessly I continued, “I mean, why else would you listen to
this guy? He’s got an earring! You hate when men pierce their
ears.”