Improbable Futures (2 page)

He steps closer, his pockmarked face inches from mine. “Need me to teach you a lesson? ’Cause it would be my pleasure.” He presses against me, and there’s nothing but the smell of stale cigarettes and sweat. Nothing but a thousand more nights like this in my future. Unless I want him to leave my mom and me in one of these crap towns, with nothing but the clothes on our backs.

I wouldn’t care, but this is the only life my mother knows.

I remember the month she spent as a checker at the grocery store when I was in kindergarten, trying to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. She told me it was the longest month of her life. She missed the dizzying lights and outdated music of the midway, the bells on her skirt that made her feel like she was something special, and the rush of predicting futures that would never come true.

“You listening to me, Ilana?” Big John’s pinched red face stares back at me, anger coming off him in waves.

I don’t respond. Anything I say will make him angrier, and my own rage already threatens to eat me alive.

Finally, he releases me and I can breathe again. Big John flicks his cigarette at me as he walks away. “Remember what I said.”

As if I can ever forget.

My mother believes that “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” But she’s wrong.

When evil unthinkable things happen, they don’t make you stronger. They keep killing you over and over again. And you don’t forget. You relive them, trapped in a continual loop that never ends. She swears you can make it stop by forgiving and moving forward. I’m moving forward, but I’ll never forgive.

The light is on inside our trailer, which means my mom already cashed out for the night. When I open the door that never stops squeaking no matter how many times we grease it, she’s unbraiding her hair in front of the mirror. My mom is beautiful, my polar opposite in every way. She’s fragile and delicate looking, the kind of woman men automatically allow to walk through doors first. I’m not beautiful or delicate, or even ugly.

I’m nothing.

My mother turns to face me, and I know Big John has already been here. I can see the disappointment in her eyes. She gives me a moment to offer an explanation, even though I never give her one. She senses tonight is no different and plunges in. “Ilana, why do you keep doing this? Big John is going to kick us out if you keep this up.”

That’s what I want
.

She puts her hands on my shoulders gently. “You’re hurting people. You know that, don’t you?”

I laugh, and it sounds as bitter and vicious as I feel. “And you’re not? We lie to people for a living. You don’t think that hurts them?”

“Yes, we lie. But these poor souls come to us for hope—to hear their lives will get better. You promise them they won’t. We may not be able to predict the future, but we can influence it.”

I’ve heard this before, but it never stops sounding ridiculous. “You honestly believe that?”

She picks up a miniature crystal ball sitting on the corner of her vanity. “Do you know what they used to call these?” She turns the ball between her fingers. “The witch’s eye. People believed that only a powerful witch could see the future. We may not be able to alter the hands of fate, but the power of suggestion is very real. We affect people’s lives. And we can choose to make their lives better, even if it’s just for a few minutes.”

There is no way to make her understand. I’m not capable of making anyone else’s life better when I can’t even change my own.

“I can’t lie with a smile on my face. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.” Now I am lying and she knows it. I’m a better grifter than my mother any day of the week.

My whole life is a lie.

Tony was pissed. He’d spent the last two hours with Heather, trying to convince her that he wasn’t going to change his mind about getting engaged, while she cried her eyes out. All because of some stupid fortune-teller at a cheap-ass carnival.

Tony knew it was crap. He wasn’t going to change his mind. He was crazy about Heather. He’d already bought a ring, one of those fancy ones from the jewelry store at the mall. Tony had saved for six months to buy it, and now it was burning a hole in his dresser drawer. After what happened tonight, he almost told Heather about the ring.

But that wasn’t the way he wanted to propose—with his girl freaked out because of some second-rate psychic.

Maybe he should’ve given it to her.…

Tony shoved his hands in his pockets, distracted. He was still thinking about it when he stepped off the curb. He never saw the car coming.

Jeanie unlocked the front door. The town house was quiet, a relief after the never-ending noise of the carnival. Loud music, even louder rides, and the voice of the fortune-teller she couldn’t forget.

Soon you will have an unwanted visitor
.

It sounded like something from a fortune cookie.

Jeanie knew it was ridiculous to obsess over a prediction made by a teenager at a run-down carnival. But she had always been pessimistic. It was hard to ignore bad news when someone actually handed it to you.

She just needed some sleep.

Jeanie didn’t bother to turn on the lights in the kitchen as she poured a glass of water. She was still standing in front of the sink when she noticed the broken glass in front of the sliding doors a few feet away.

And when the junkie who broke it pointed the black gun at her red sweater.

I wake to the sound of an angry fist banging on hollow wood. Someone’s at the trailer door.

“Antoinette? Ilana? Can you come on out here, please?”

I recognize the voice immediately. It’s Leeds, the carnival’s mender. His job is to pay off the local cops so they don’t hassle us for rigging the games and selling dead goldfish. A few times he negotiated a quick exit out of town, like after the arm fell off the octopus ride with a carload of people in it, or the time some fifteen-year-old girl’s father caught her behind the Porta-Johns with CR, both as naked as the Devil Baby.

If Leeds is knocking, it’s not good.

“Antoinette! You get your ass out here!” Big John shouts, rattling the door handle.

My stomach seizes and I jump out of bed searching for a sweatshirt. I want to cover up every inch of my skin before my mom opens the door.

“Just a second.” She gropes for her robe, still half asleep.

8:07.

Carnies don’t get up before noon. Add Leeds and 8:07 together and it equals crap too deep to wade through.

My mother opens the door, and I know I’m right. Leeds is wearing his cheap tweed jacket that makes him look like one of those accident lawyers who advertise on TV at two in the morning. Big John is standing next to him, swollen and red faced in a white ribbed tank and suspenders. Anyone can tell he lost a fight with a bottle of Jim Beam, especially the cop hovering behind him.

“What’s the problem, gentlemen?” my mom asks.

“You know anything about a woman getting robbed last night?” Big John points a chubby finger at me. “ ’Cause I swear if you do, you’re gonna be the sorriest little—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap.

“Then why the hell are the cops here?” His voice is hate and poison and the promise of something terrible.

“Let’s all calm down,” Leeds says. “Ilana, this officer needs to ask you a few questions.” Leeds is talking like a real lawyer instead of a cash-and-carry con man.

The cop pulls a notepad out of his shirt pocket. “You remember telling a lady she was going to have”—he flips through the pad—“an unexpected visitor last night?”

“I probably saw fifty people. I can’t remember what I said to half of them. What happened? Did she stay up all night waiting for her ex and now she wants her money back?”

It’s one of the classics. A third of the women who walk into the tent want to know if their ex is coming back.

“Nope,” the cop says without losing the grip he has on the toothpick between his teeth. “She spent the night in the hospital. Guy broke into her house. Robbed the place and beat her up pretty bad.”

My mother crosses her arms and switches to the offensive. “I don’t see how that involves my daughter. Are you accusing her of something, Officer? Because if you are—”

Leeds holds his hands up. “Calm down, Antoinette. No one’s accusing her of anything. The officer is just doing his job.”

“That’s right, ma’am.” The cop moves the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other without touching it. Maybe Big John should offer him a job.

I look the cop in the eye and hope he knows how to recognize the truth when he hears it. But it’s doubtful. Most people can’t or I’d be out of a job. “I’m sorry about what happened, but I don’t know anything. People give me five dollars and I give them a story. That’s all.”

The cop gives me the standard intimidating stare. I look him right in the eye and he nods. “All right then. You let me know if you hear anything.”

My mother’s silk robe flutters gently in the breeze. She looks like the real thing. Someone who can predict your future as easily as making toast. “We’ll be sure to do that.”

My mom shoves me back inside and watches as the officer disappears into the midway. She twists her long hair on top of her head and slips on a tank top and jeans. The gypsy is gone. “I’ll be back. I’m going to give Leeds a piece of my mind.”

She stalks across the dusty lot, and I can’t help but think of how she’d react if I told her about Big John—the things he’s done to me. But I can barely stand to think about them myself. I could never tell her. If I did, that’s what she would see every time she looked at me.

It’s what I see when I look in the mirror. I can’t face seeing it in her eyes too.

There’s another knock at the door and my stomach sinks. Is it Leeds coming back to give me a tongue lashing for causing trouble? I open the curtain covering the tiny window. An old man is standing on the folding steps of the trailer, holding a cap in his hands.

I recognize him from last night.

What did I tell him? Something bad, that’s for sure
.

But his eyes are bright and hopeful.

I crack the door hesitantly. “Can I help you?”

The old man looks surprised. He was probably expecting me to greet him in my gypsy garb. “You’ve already helped me, miss. Wanted to thank you.” He’s a townie, a local for sure, grinning at me with cigarette-stained teeth and tired eyes.

“For what?” Lately, my fortunes haven’t been worthy of thanks.

“You said I’d win big if I kept betting on the horses.” He pauses and grins wider. “And last night, I finally picked me a winner. Odds were ten to one. Payout was twenty grand.”

“You won twenty thousand dollars?”

He nods, excited. “Yep. Like I said, I just wanted to thank you.”

I try to think of a response, but my mind is on overload. The girl in the red sweater and now this? What are those odds?

A thought crystallizes with perfect clarity the way the future is supposed to materialize in my cheap glass ball:
My predictions are coming true
.

Is it possible?

The proof already knocked on my door twice this morning.

“Miss?” He’s watching me expectantly.

“You’re welcome.”

He puts his cap back on and disappears, leaving me standing in the doorway of the trailer. He passes Big John huffing through the dust, his beady eyes zeroing in on me. He’s looking for me.

It’s always me.

“You think you’re funny?” Big John points across the lot, his face red and tense. “People don’t come to see your hot little ass. They come to hear something good’s about to happen in their sorry lives.” He’s only a few feet away, but I can already smell the sweat mixed with whiskey.

“They want a future!”

Anger churns in my stomach, the sick taste of hate in my throat. “You mean an improbable future?”

Big John grabs my arm, his fat fingers pressing into my skin. He shoves me against the door, crushing my body beneath his. “You’ve got a smart mouth. Do I need to remind you what happens to little girls with smart mouths?”

The nausea hits me in waves, and I have to swallow the bile to keep from throwing up.

You’re not here. You’re somewhere else.…

I can feel his sweat on my skin, thick and sticky.

Let go
.

He pushes away from me, turning at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll see you tonight. And every townie that gives you five bucks better walk out thinking he’s gonna be a millionaire. You got that?”

I nod. But I think about all the things he’s taken from me. All the things he’ll continue to take. I think about the smell of cigarettes and Jim Beam, the feeling of sweat on my skin. I feel it again.

The bells on my skirt drag in the dirt. If they’re ringing, I can’t hear them. The only thing I can hear is a Def Leppard song blaring from the cheap speakers above the Scrambler and Big John’s voice in my ear. I walk over the trash and cigarette butts littering the midway. This whole place is nothing but trash.

Something moves in my peripheral vision near the broken cotton candy cart.

Big John.

He’s leading a girl who looks a few years younger than me behind the abandoned cart that marks the edge of the carnival grounds, where the trampled grass and dirt turns into trees and darkness. I’ve never seen her before. Big John’s hand is clamped around her wrist and he’s smiling. She’s not. The girl glances around nervously like she’s trying to decide how embarrassing it will be if she calls out for no reason. Because he’s not going to hurt her … right?

I can’t move.

I’m not the only one
.

I want to run or scream or do something, but every muscle in my body is frozen as I watch them disappear into the darkness.

Do something!

I will my legs to run. My voice to scream. But I’m frozen, trapped by the solid wall of fear I can’t climb.

How long has he been doing this? How many girls?

“Ilana, there’s a line!” Leeds shouts.

I focus on the trailer. The red paint. The folding steps. The line of people milling around outside, waiting for pink and yellow bulbs to light up. They don’t care if half of them are burnt out and a seventeen-year-old who hasn’t been to school since kindergarten is the one making the promises. No one cares.