The Break-Up Psychic (26 page)

The scent and sound of sizzling bacon draws me out of the bedroom and through the living room toward the kitchen. Luanne had a late night, and it was going on 3:00 a.m. before I heard her key turn in the door. The Cavern closes at ten p.m. on Sunday nights, so it wasn’t work that kept her late.

“So, are you going to tell me where you were last night?”

Luanne turns a piece of bubbling, brown bacon in the skillet, a sly smile playing on her mouth. “Now, Ellie, you know a lady never tells.”

“A lady?” I ask, eyebrows raised in her direction.

“Alright, point taken. Still, a woman’s got to have her secrets.”

“Is that so? Hmm…does this secret have a name?”

Luanne forks the bacon onto a paper towel ready at the counter and turns to face me, her hand on her hip. “Well, I suppose he might. But I’m more interested in what transpired between you and the Harlow County dream-boats at the fair the other day. My sources inform there was a bit of a showdown at the OK Corral.”

I reach for the pot of fresh-made coffee, one of the many perks of Casa Luanne, and pour a mug full. “I was going to tell you, I just haven’t really seen you since then.”

“Spill it.” Luanne passes me a plate and we take our breakfast into the living room, relaxing onto our appointed seats on the sofa.

“Well, I told you Tim’s booth was going to be near Brook’s, right?” I say through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

“You did. I take it he saw that as an opportunity to try and worm his way back into your life?”

“The guy is relentless. He won’t give up.”

“And Sam came around to throw a wrench in things?”

“It’s funny you should mention tools, actually.” I take another bite of eggs and bacon, remembering the way Sam tensed when Tim let slip about the honey-flavored body powder. If Brook could figure out how to bottle up that much pure manliness, she’d have enough money to realize her life-long wish of building a life-size Barbie dream-house.

“Sam wanted to explain the Roxy situation,” I say.

“Yeah, Hart mentioned she’s been causing a fair amount of trouble since her return. Apparently she’s broke, lost all her savings, and couldn’t land a job out there in Hollywood. He reckons she’s come crawling back to Sam ‘cause she’s got nowhere else to turn.”

“He didn’t really go into too much detail, under the circumstances, but he did tell me it’s over between them. He told me he wants to be with me,” I say, failing to hide the smile that overtakes my face at this admission.

“Well, well,” says Luanne, putting her plate on the coffee table. “Do you believe him?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s crazy, I know, but I really do believe him. He’s so different than Tim, than my dad, or any of the rest of them. He came clean, and he apologized for not telling me about her sooner. I don’t know how I finally found myself a winner; I just know he’s different.”

“Different how?”

“Like, when he’s looking at me, he’s really seeing me. And not the person he wants to see, but the person I really am. Of course, the truly amazing thing is that the person I am is slightly neurotic and a little bit broken, but he wants to be with me anyway. He makes me feel safe and happy.”

“And your other-worldly senses, what’re they telling you?”

“That’s the thing; they’ve been completely silent.” The absence of my psychic alarm bells whenever I’ve been around Sam James has had me wondering if maybe I’m losing my touch, but now I know it’s because when it comes to Sam and me, I don’t have anything to fear.

“Well, you can’t say fairer than that. I suppose now would be a good time for us to come up with a sock-on-the-doorknob plan for when he comes
courtin
’ you over here?”

“I think maybe we’ll keep those interactions at his place.”

“Well, don’t rule out the back of any old cars,” says Luanne as she moves off the sofa and to the kitchen.

I have to snigger at that one. But it’s not such a bad idea, really. Thinking of Sam and his prodigious bra-unhooking skills, I grab my cell phone, scroll until I get to the contact marked SJ Auto Body, and hit
Send
. After a long weekend at the fair, I’ve got the day off, and spending some time in the back of Sam James’ car seems like a pretty good use of my free time.

“SJ Auto Body,” says an unfamiliar male voice.

“Hi, I’m looking for Sam.”

“He’s not here at the moment. Had something personal
goin
’ on this morning. You tried him at home?”

“No, I haven’t,” I answer, unprepared for the news. “I’ll just try him on his cell.”

I end the call and stare at the phone in my hand for a minute. What kind of personal business could he be dealing with? No, stop. No jumping to conclusions. He’s probably just working on his house or something. I scroll until I find his cell phone number and again press
Send
, holding the phone a fraction too tight to my ear. Two rings, three, four…

“You’ve reached Sam. Leave a message.” Beep.

I start to speak, but my voice is lagging and I have to clear my throat before starting again. “Hi, Sam, it’s Ellie. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to call you yesterday. It was a long afternoon at the fair and Tim’s boss found out about the teddy bears and he and Brook ended up, well, anyway, sorry for not calling. I have the day off and I thought maybe if you weren’t too busy we could get together, conduct some research or something,” I stammer shyly. “So, call me, okay? Alright, bye.”

What is it about leaving a message for a guy you like that leaves you babbling like an idiot? I drop the phone onto the coffee table and try to ignore the small kernel of dread that’s taken root in my stomach.
Ding.
No, don’t be ridiculous; he’s just busy and can’t get to his phone. It doesn’t mean anything.
Ding.
Maybe he’s moving furniture or cleaning out his gutters. This is just me being crazy. Not answering his cell phone isn’t tantamount to being up to no good.
Ding, ding, ding
… Maybe I could just swing by his place, see if I can lend him a helping hand. Perhaps his dimple is in need of a good licking.

I jump from the sofa and tear into the bedroom, grabbing a pair of Luanne’s jeans from the floor. Luanne’s about ten pounds skinnier than me, so the jeans fit very snug. I rummage in my drawer, pull out a white tank-top and force it over my head. Luanne has an old leather vest hanging in her closet from when she played ‘old lady’ to a nomadic biker a few years back. I rip it from its hanger and slide it up my arms. I run my hands through my hair, tousling the dark loose curls and turn to look at myself in the mirror.

“What in the hell are you wearing?” Luanne has appeared in the open doorway and is assessing me with alarmed eyes.

“What, you don’t like it? I was going for biker-chic.” I turn and check out my backside in the mirror. The tightness of the jeans has lifted and shaped my butt into a thing of beauty.

“You look like you’re on your way to meet John Travolta at the funhouse.”

I take another look at myself in the mirror. She’s right; it’s a little too Sandra Dee.

“Whatever, I don’t have time to pick out anything else,” I say as I move past Luanne and into the hallway.

“Where’re you
goin
’?”

“To Sam’s,” I call over my shoulder, searching the living room for my purse.

“Ellie, stop. What’s gotten into you?” Luanne bends down, scooping my purse out from under the sofa by its strap and hugging it to her chest, preventing my rushed departure.

“What? Nothing! I just need to get over there. Can I have my purse, please?” I extend my hand to Luanne but she’s reluctant to give me the bag.

“What’s happened in the last ten minutes that has you
runnin
’ around like your hair’s caught on fire?”

“I told you, it’s nothing. Everything’s fine, I just need to get over there.”

“Why?”

“To make sure—I mean, to see him. I just want to surprise him is all. Can I have my purse now?”

Luanne continues to eye me skeptically but hands the purse over. “There’s something not right, isn’t there? Is it your bells? Are they
ringin
’ again?”

Yes. They’re ringing. They’re suddenly dinging so loud, I can hardly hear myself think. “No, of course not,” I lie to Luanne.

I just need to see Sam. Once I see him and see that everything’s fine, I can silence these damn bells once and for all. I turn and walk to the door, purposefully slowing my steps along the way.

As I turn the knob Luanne says, “They’re not real, you know, those bells. They can’t protect you.”

“They’ve done a pretty decent job so far,” I say, not turning to look back at her.

“Have they? Have they ever really kept you from getting hurt? Ellie, you need to trust in your heart. What’s your heart telling you?”

I close my eyes and listen, but all I can hear is the bells. That little psychic warning system that tells me when it’s time to cut and run. “It’s not telling me anything, Lu.”

As I move out of the apartment and turn to close the door behind me, I hear Luanne’s parting words, spoken softly but sharp as a knife.

“Maybe you just don’t want to listen to what it’s got to say.”

It’s funny how the sight of something as innocuous as a Toyota Prius can put fear into your heart, given the right circumstances. Sitting in my car in front of Sam’s place, I’ve gone temporarily deaf. The alarm bells were ringing at such a high decibel all the way there, it’s possible I’ve blown an eardrum. Can you suffer hearing loss if the sound is coming from inside your own mind? Perhaps it’s a bit like hysterical blindness—hysterical deafness.

Oh for goodness’ sake, this is completely ridiculous. It’s probably just a car from the shop, and he brought it home for some off-duty repairs. Like a special project or something.
Stop being such a wussy, and get hold of yourself!

I grasp the handle and pull my car door open before I can talk myself out of it. Luanne’s jeans have been strangling me from the waist down throughout the car ride, so standing up is a great relief. I walk quickly up to the front door, aware that I probably look like a slutty cat burglar to any nosy neighbors. I don’t allow my hand to pause as I reach the door, but jam my finger onto the doorbell plate, holding my breath.

I hear someone padding down the hallway and feel a millisecond of relief when I see the outline of a white t-shirt through the frosted glass of the door. But when the door opens, it’s not Sam standing before me. Roxy, beautiful, exotic, ex-fiancé Roxy, opens the door wearing nothing but one of Sam’s shirts, an impish smile on her face.

“Hey! I remember you, you’re from that bath shop, right?” she asks, crossing her lean, tanned legs over one another as she leans effortlessly against the doorframe.

I’m rendered speechless and stare blankly back at her. I can’t think of anything to say or do beyond repressing the urge to tear her hair out.

“Yeah, you helped me pick out that yummy perfume, remember?” she asks, oblivious to my shock-induced paralysis.

“Yes, yes, I remember,” I stammer.

“So what’re you doing here?” she asks, confusion evident on her flawless face.

“I, uh, I just…” My mouth is dry and I have to swallow and wet my lips as I think of what to say.

“Don’t tell me you’re making a house call,” she teases. “If you’re wondering how that perfume worked out, I can tell you it definitely came in handy.” She gives me a saucy, conspiratorial smile.

“No, no, I just came by to see if— I mean, I came to see if Sam was at home.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you two were acquainted,” she says, her lovely features taking a turn for the suspicious.

“Yes, we are. I mean, he helped me with my friend’s truck and—”

“Oh right, and you’re probably here to drop off the keys or something? Sorry, I’m a little slow this morning. It was a long night,” she says, again with that seductive smile.

My heart is thrashing in my chest. He told me they were over, that she was in his past, and I believed him. If that’s true, then what is she doing standing here in one of his t-shirts?

“No, I’m not here to drop off any keys. Listen, I just need to talk to Sam, so is he around?”

“Sorry, he disappeared early this morning, said something about getting in some work downtown. I expect him home for lunch though, so I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

Home. She called Sam’s house, home. I feel petrified, like an animal caught in a trap, fighting against a sad fate and helpless to stop it.

“Wait…do you live here, with Sam?”

“Yeah, I just moved back in the other day. We’ve still got a million boxes to sort through, but it’s so good to be back.”

I turn away from her. My heart’s beating so rapidly, I fear I may have a heart attack right there on Sam’s front porch.

“Are you alright?” Roxy asks, a look of concern on her face.

“No,” I say, shaking my head, “I’m not.”

I look over my shoulder at Roxy and as she takes in the pain on my face, understanding reaches her eyes. “Oh, I get it. You think you and Sam have a thing going, is that it?” Her friendly tone has turned cold.

“I thought—”

“He’s mine, understand? Stay away from him.”