Beautiful Souls (9 page)

    
              What I couldn’t figure out for the life of me was why there wasn’t even a minute vision when I saw or spoke with Zoey today. I was almost looking forward to whatever scenes today’s visions would bring. When nothing occurred, I was pretty much devastated. If I could only figure out what triggered the visions, then maybe I could force myself to have more.

             
With this revelation, I knew that I wanted to hurry home and attempt to make the visions occur again. The seconds seemed like minutes, and the minutes dragged in to hours till that final bell released me from torturing myself with any more of this waiting game.

             
I quickly grabbed my belongings from my locker, threw them into my bag, and headed out to the parking lot. The moment my lungs filled with fresh, crisp autumn air, and the afternoon sun sent it’s low intense rays directly into my eyes,  was when I remembered. I told my mom I’d be at the shop after school today to help her out for a little while with the new shipments.

             
While I contemplated whether or not I should show up to work, Leo met me at the driver’s side door of my car.

             
“Hey, Bec. Can we talk?” he asked quietly. I thought that he might still be upset for the way I snapped at him earlier. We had made up during lunch and I was over it, but maybe he wasn’t.

             
“Um, sure. I’m supposed to help my mom at the store right now though.”

    
              “How about I drive you there, and we can talk on the way,” he proposed.

    
              “Yeah, okay,” I agreed.

    
              I left my neglected Bug sitting in the same parking space, where it had sat for the past two days, then walked over to Leo’s truck just a few spaces away. He jumped behind the wheel and opened the passenger door for me from the inside of the truck, and I closed it behind me after I climbed up to the passenger seat.

    
              We drove in silence most of the way. I knew that I needed to at least make small talk so Leo didn’t think I was still angry with him for voicing his opinion of Zoey.

    
              “So, do you have practice tonight?” This was my attempt to spark conversation? It was the first thought that I could conjure up off the top of my head, so I went ahead and threw the question out there.                   “No, we actually have the night off. Coach wants us to be fresh and rested for the game tomorrow night. Why, were you going to invite me over later?” he asked with that impossible grin. The one he knew I couldn’t say
‘no’
to.

    
              “Maybe,” I teased. “Since when do you need an invitation?” I asked, slightly flirting with my lips puckered in to a grin so that he knew I was joking. Really, Leo never needed an invitation, but I asked anyway, “So all joking aside, do you wanna come over for diner tonight?”

    
              “I don’t think I can make it in time for dinner, but I’ll come over after and we can hang out for a little while. Is that okay?”

    
              “Sure. So, do you have something going on that’s more important than having dinner with your best friend, or what?” I joked.                   We were pulling on to Main Street now, and I saw Leo’s mood change when I asked him the last question.

    
              “I’m just kidding, you know,” I added, seeing his obvious concern.

    
              “Yeah, I know. I do want you to know something though,” he said, then his eyes darkened as he became even more serious.  “You mean a lot to me, Becca. I mean, you’re my best friend, and I want you to know that you are the most important person in my life,” he said sweetly.

    
              I was speechless for a moment. Leo and I had never talked this way with each other before. Even though we had known each other all our lives, spent countless together, and talked about almost everything under the sun, we’ve never shared feelings like this --- this significant or this meaningful.

    
              “You’re my best friend too,” I replied back, my mind still reeling from his sweet words and focused eyes.

    
              When I said it, it just didn’t feel like enough. I so badly wanted to say more, but I didn’t know how or what to say. My brain was still having trouble processing this conversion between the two of us, and the recent switch of the possibility that we could go from best friends to friends that had feelings for one another was --- for lack of better words --- blowing my mind. I wanted there to be more, so much more. My body was on fire and aching for there to be more, but how do you even start something like that with your best friend of seventeen years?

    
              “All right, Bec.” Leo let me off the hook, sensing my trepidation. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, as we pulled in front of my mom’s shop. I hesitated for a moment, searching for more words but they never came. Leo leaned in toward me, brushing his warm hand across my thighs as he reached across and grabbed the door handle.                    His touch, just the slightest touch, had sent chills through me to every part of my body, and it made me feel hot and cold all at the same time.

    
              The door popped open, releasing me from the truck’s roomy cab, and I felt a swirl of crisp, mulch-scented air envelop me as I climbed down from the passenger seat.

    
              I walked slowly down the decorated sidewalks of our Town Square toward the front door to the antique store, and I stopped to watched as Leo pulled off toward the round-a-bout. He honked twice, the honk that was always meant for me, then he turned at the stop sign just down the block.

    
              I opened the large wooden door of my mom’s antique shop moments later and was instantly hit with that familiar, overwhelming scent. It was a combination of cinnamon candles that she used to cover the smell of old mothballs, antique wood, and dust from the hodgepodge of trinkets and furniture that made their temporary home here.

    
              “Hi. How was school?” My mom chimed, as I crossed the showroom floor toward the front desk.

    
              “Normal,” I responded, disappointed by my honest answer.

    
              “That’s too bad.” Boy, my mom really did know me well. What other parent would understand how devastating an answer like mine really was. She continued, “Well, we had a lot of items that just came in this morning. I’d like you to price them and find homes for them out here on the floor somewhere.” My mom said this as she pointed toward the stock room at the back of the store where stacks of boxes sat waiting for me.

    
              My mom usually received a couple of deliveries per week from good deals she either found online or from local auctions that she attended on a regular basis.

    
              “I’ve already made up a catalog of the new items and their price tags. They’re back there on the loading table next to the new deliveries,” she called, as I headed for the storage room.

    
              I spent approximately the next hour unpacking antiques and vintage items from boxes, foam peanuts, and bubble wrap. I matched them up with their appropriate item numbers and price tags, then moved each collectible and trinket, one by one, from the back room to the few small spaces that remained out in the showroom. I sometimes had no choice but to simply shove an item into a place to create a suitable crevice for the item to be shown on display.

    
              My mom had a tendency to over order items for the store, but I had to admit that this place really did look beautiful. The carefully purchased pieces tended to grow on me over time, and I think that the older I’ve grown, perhaps, the more appreciation I’ve learned to have for her finds.

    
              Another hour passed as I helped ring up customers at the front desk, and before long it was time to close up shop and head home for the day.

 
                 My mom had taken an item to the storage room to be wrapped and delivered to our last customer, and I had my head down, counting the money in the register. We had both just about finished our routine to close the shop for the day, when I heard the bell over the front door jingle, announcing the arrival of a last minute shopper.

    
              I rose quickly from counting, suddenly stunned and delighted at the sight in front of me. Our last minute customers were Zoey, her brother Luke, and a woman I presumed to be their mother.

    
              “Hello,” the woman said in her deep, raspy voice. Her dark hair was pulled up in a sleek, tight bun. “I am Abigail Fitzgerald. I just opened the art gallery across the street, and I wanted to be a good neighbor and introduce myself to the surrounding proprietors. This is my daughter, Zoey, and my son, Luke,” she introduced to me, as my mom appeared from the back room at the sound of customers in her shop.

     
              “Hi, I’m Anna Olson,” my mom introduced herself, as she held out her hand toward Mrs. Fitzgerald. “Abigail, did I hear that correctly?”

     
              “Abby, please.”

     
              “Abby, so nice to finally meet you. This is my daughter, Becca,” she looked at me and waved her hand my direction, summoning me to come forward.

    
              I stood up from the stool behind the register and made my way from behind the large antique counter serving as our checkout desk.                   “Hi, Zoey,” I said with wide eyes and a little too much enthusiasm.

    
              “This is my brother, Luke. I don’t think you two have met yet.”                   “Hi,” was apparently the only word he could muster.

    
              Luke was tall, dark and handsome. His long almost black hair fell off to the side, slightly covering the top of his left eye, and he shook it off further to the side to reveal the same piercing, green eyes that matched Zoey’s exactly.

    
              The sight of these three standing together was breathtaking. They were all so beautiful individually, but together they were stunning. Thankfully, my mom realized that I was at a loss for words and chimed in with a question to release me from the pressure of having to speak.

    
              “So, did I hear correctly that you are opening an art gallery across the street?”

    
              “Yes, yes,” Abby answered. “We are still organizing and moving product into the store, but we plan to offer paintings, sculptures, and whatever else we can find from local artists. My husband, Christian, just transferred here to the Fairview Fire Department, and I thought that I’d open the gallery to keep myself busy. I also figured that this would give me a good opportunity to become involved with the local community. I think this will be a nice change from our busy lives in Chicago.”

    
              “Oh, I agree,” my mom replied. “My family and I have lived here our entire lives, and we enjoy it very much. I’ll help introduce you to some of the other shop owners, if you’d like?”

    
              “Well, thank you. We’d appreciate that,” Abby replied, and she sounded genuine.

             
No matter how much the Fitzgeralds' glamorous looks caused them to stand out from the plain-jane appearances of most of the citizens here, they made a believable case that their intentions were to actually make a permanent home here and fit in to our small-town society.    

    
              My mom continued to chat with Abby as they made their way back to the front door of our antique shop. For a moment, Zoey made eye contact with me, then stepped toward me. She leaned in toward my ear.

    
              “Becca, since we’re both working at our mothers’ stores after school, would you like to go with me to the diner? Maybe Monday after closing around six o’clock?” she asked quietly. Her voice still sounded much older than any seventeen-year-old girl.

    
              “Um, sure.  That sounds great actually,” I answered a bit too quickly, but still tried to play it cool to cover the fact that I couldn’t have been more thrilled.

    
              Time spent with Zoey could help me figure out a lot about my visions, if she did in fact have anything to do with them.

    
              “Good. Six o’clock then on Monday,” she sounded very please with herself, then turned to follow her mother and brother back across the street toward their own store.

    
              I watched them cross and noticed Luke had commented something to Zoey. She reacted with a scowl. They appeared to be arguing, as all three disappeared moments later behind the closing door of what would soon be their art gallery.

    
              Luke had remained so quiet for the time that he was present in our shop. What could he have been upset about? Did something happen that I missed? Surely, Zoey and I meeting at the diner couldn’t have possibly upset him, so what had I missed out on? First he had glared at me in the hallway at school, and now this?
What crawled up his ass?
, I wondered.