Talisman (47 page)

My hand
isn’t cut at all!
  There wasn’t even the slightest scratch.  I pried my hand out from under the blade and raised it for a closer inspection.

NO
freaking WAY!
  I was stunned by the miraculous turn of events.  I started thinking about what Tanner Grey had said about my “abilities”. 
This surely has to be one of them
.

Awestruck, I sidled over to the miter saw.  Any sane person would think I’d gone off the deep end with what I was about to do, but curiosity had just killed that poor little kitty.  I flipped the switch and lifted up on the handle of the saw blade.  I positioned my left
forearm on the cold metal guide, took a deep breath, said a quick prayer that I was right, and slowly lowered the spinning blade.

The blade’s sharp teeth were just inches from my
skin when I heard Charlotte scream out, “What are you doing out here
THIS EARLY?
”

Alarmed and a bit embarrassed, I stopped, threw the handle back up to its original position, and fumbled to turn off the s
aw.  I whipped around.

“
Nothing
…Just fixing that drawer front.  Daddy wouldn’t have wanted it to go unfinished.”  I prayed she hadn’t seen what I’d
really
been doing, but I wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there.  Charlotte walked over to the table saw and picked up the jagged board I had ruined.

“Oh,
good job
,” Charlotte cracked, sneering at me.  “Caiden would be
sooo
proud.”  My mother tossed the mangled board into the trashcan and rolled her eyes as she prowled closer.

“I made breakfast,” I said
in an attempt for some civility, especially after yesterday’s tense interaction.

“That doesn’t make up for your behavior yesterday
or
my smashed curio…not to mention,
MY HAND!
” she barked and waved her cast in my face.  “And you
broke
the front window, just because you were too stupid to remember to take your keys before you ran off…
Ugh!
  I hope you aren’t planning any of your little tantrums today.  I’ll have the police lock you up this time.  Don’t think I won’t!”

I had to force myself to bite my tongue.  I was only doing it for Daddy.  I stood there wide-eyed, tuning out most of what she
was saying while I thought,
Why is she so evil?
  That had been a 24 hour / 7 day a week job of hers for the past several years, which was done for the most part behind Daddy’s back.  With his passing, it would be a cold day in Hell before I ever saw an improvement in her attitude.

Yep, it’s all downhill from here
…
Graduation can’t get here soon enough!

Being nice and thoughtful gestures weren’t going to work on Charlotte.  She wasn’t about to cut me any slack, not even on the day my father was to be honored and
laid to rest.

Best
to just avoid her altogether
.

“Excuse me,
Mother
…I need to get ready.”  I started to walk past her, but she jumped in front of me, totally blocking my exit on purpose.  When I attempted to maneuver around her, she drove her shoulder into mine.  Assertively, I shoved her back, with just enough force to move her out of my way, but somehow I misjudged my strength.  I accidentally sent her stumbling backward, knocking her into Daddy’s red metal tool-chest.

She let out a snide gasp and stared at me in a state of disbelief.

Stunned and slightly regretful, I turned to head for the door.  As I pulled the knob towards me, I heard her say,

You’d think that selfish little twit would’ve

at least had the courtesy not to kill

herself on the same day I’m burying Caiden!

I’ll give her credit for a creative way

to slit her wrist though…

Maybe I should’ve let her finish?

I slammed the workshop
door shut and whirled around.

“Did you
SAY SOMETHING
, Charlotte?” I demanded.  I was furious she couldn’t have cared less if I was dead or not, but I was even more irate at the notion she thought I would have actually done something like that in the first place!

“I didn’t
SAY
anything to you!” Charlotte snapped and shot me a look like I was crazy.  For a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of guilt dancing within her eyes.  She never made a sound, but her words rang in my ears as clear as a bell.

Crap! I didn’t say that out loud…Did I?

No, no…I couldn’t have…
She’s nuts!

If her attitude doesn’t chan
ge,

I’ll have her committed.

Nah, I would have to pay for that…

She’s eighteen now…

I can legally kick her ass out!

My face couldn’t have been any more motionless if someone had just pumped it full of Botox.  It wasn’t
“what”
she’d said that had me in such a stupefied state, but the realization that I’d heard the innermost thoughts of a person who wasn’t myself —
AGAIN!
  A grin stretched across my face as I turned and ran through the pouring rain towards the house.

Well, add “telepath” to the growing list
.

I stepped into the kitchen to find
Chloe seated at the table, wolfing down a hearty helping of the breakfast I’d fixed.  In a juvenile fashion, she never spoke and kept on devouring her food. Though she did manage to stick out her tongue as I walked past, obviously still ticked about the window.

I headed into the hallway, but I paused so I could peek back into the kitchen. 
Let’s see how this “trick” works exactly
.

I cleared my mind and
gazed fervently at my unsuspecting little sister.  She piled a second-helping of eggs and two more gravy-laden biscuits onto her plate.  The way she was scarfing down her breakfast, you would think she hadn’t eaten in days. 
See
…
You wouldn’t have to gorge yourself if your diet didn’t consist of Diet Coke and celery sticks, knucklehead
.  The corners of her mouth rose into a smirk as she tore into one of the biscuits.

Ha!  She’ll be the one cleaning up a mess when

she put
s on her black pumps and

finds hair gel
all gooped-up in the toes of them!

That little WITCH!
  I started to head back into the kitchen to confront her immature, dastardly deed, but there wasn’t any way I could explain
how
I knew about it.  Another sneaky grin crept across my face as a playful thought ran through my mind. 
I’ll have some “fun” with her later
.

I ran upstairs and grabbed the shoes
in question out of my closet.  Sure enough, they were filled with her pink-tinted hair gel. 
Ugh!
  I hurried to the bathroom to clean them up and dried them out with my hairdryer. 
Disaster averted
.

I spent the rest of the morning getting ready for the service and reminiscing about Daddy.  I lingered in the shower and pretty much poked through all
of my morning rituals.  I pulled out a black fitted blouse and coordinating pinstripe skirt from the rear of my closet.  As predicted, they were more than a bit wrinkly.

I hurried downstairs to the laundry room.  While I waited for the iron to heat up, I noticed a familiar item of clothing wadded up in the laundry basket. 
Daddy’s blue and white striped-shirt…The one he wore when he went on his “secret errand” to buy my dress for the dance
.  I snatched it up and held it close, the way a toddler would embrace their favorite blankie.

Tears began to well in my eyes.  I could still
smell him
.  His scent was unmistakably stirring. I laid the shirt down and quickly ironed my clothes.  Once my garments had been properly pressed, I secured my newly discovered memento under my shirt and snuck back upstairs to my room.  I didn’t want anyone else to know I had it or even worse, mistakenly wash it.  I wanted it. 
I needed it
.

I placed the shirt in a bag and hid it in the back of my closet. 
No one will touch it in here
.  I couldn’t have been happier if I’d just uncovered a chest of buried treasure.  I shut the closet door and then finished getting dressed.  I looked over at my bedside clock.  It was already 10:20 AM. 
Time to head out
.

Chloe bolted into my room. 
“It’s time to go.”  She looked down at my bare feet and asked sweetly, “Are you ready?”

“
Yes
,” I replied with the same loving tone I was dealt, “but I’m going to take my own car.  I just need to
slip on my shoes
.  Give me a second.”

I purposely pulled the shoes out of my closet, from
the exact spot where she’d placed them, and laid them well within her view.  I guided both of my feet into the conservative black pumps and watched her eyes light up with triumph.

I grinned as I
threw my purse over my shoulder and strutted past her, noticing my little sister’s victorious smile had shifted into a look of sheer puzzlement.

“Come on,
Chloe
.  We don’t want to be late,” I simpered with just a touch of drama.  She knew the jig was up.  Her daze turned to disgust as she pushed past me, knocking me into the doorframe.

“Hey, I’l
l give you an
‘A’
for effort
,” I called out as she stormed down the steps.

We all
piled into our vehicles and headed off down the mountain, straight for
Ramsey Funeral Home
.  Charlotte and Chloe were in the Cadillac in front of me, and I was alone in my Charger.  An attendant instructed us to line up behind the boxy black hearse when we arrived.  A chill would always run down my spine whenever I’d see one driving down the road, but today’s viewing was especially unnerving.  I knew
who
would be in there — not some random stranger, but
Daddy
.  The feeling of sorrow in my gut continued to swell.

Upon entering through the building’s double-doors,
Mr. Bob Ramsey, the funeral home director, received us with a warm, heartfelt greeting.  I hurried over to the pedestal where the guestbook had been placed for visitors to sign.  I wanted
my name
at the top of the list.  I pulled the white quill out of its elaborate holder and started to pen my name in a very beautiful and precise script.  I hesitated.  I hadn’t signed my name with its correct spelling in years, not even when I’d gotten my driver’s license.  Daddy had given me that name, but with everything that had happened to me on that ridge, I still had mixed feelings about it.

Just as I’d made my decision and
began to write, Charlotte rushed over and snatched the feathery pen out of my hand.

“
I’ll be the
FIRST
to sign that,
dear
,” my mother scolded with a smile.  Clearly, she added that little endearment for Mr. Ramsey’s sake.

I watched
her struggling to grasp the pen with her right hand, which was clad in a bulky plaster cast.  After fumbling with the frilly quill-like pen for a minute, she placed it in her left hand with an irksome glare.  She tried her best to sign her name on line number one, like she would if she was using her right.  I’d seen eight-year olds write their names in cursive better.

Fitting
…
After all, she’s acting like one
.

As soon as
Charlotte had finished, she passed me a smirk and the pen to Chloe.  Once her name had been signed, my little sister carried on with their juvenile display and handed the pen straight back to our mother,
not to me
.

I shook my head. 
Of all times…NOW?

Charlotte placed the
feathery pen back theatrically in its holder, threw her nose in the air, and trotted off into the viewing room.  I looked at the third line of the register and thought,
It really doesn’t matter now
.  I just signed my name like I’d done every other day of my life.  That “y” served as a crutch once more.

I took a deep breath and proceeded to head into the room wh
ere my father’s body would be lying.  I was halted when Mr. Ramsey placed his hand on my arm.  He motioned me back to the guestbook and flipped it over to the next page.  The tall, and usually intimidating man seemed very docile at that moment.

“Shiloh, I hope you don’t mind, but Mr. and Mrs. Dyson came by last night.  Rob and Evelyn had doctor’s appointments today and hated they weren’t going to be able to come to Caiden’
s viewing.  I didn’t think you all would mind, so I let them see him late last night. 
They
were actually the
first ones
to sign the book.  See, right over here,” Mr. Ramsey said as he pointed to their signatures.  “They thought the world of your father.”