Only a Breath Apart

by Katie McGarry

  “Good,” she says with some of the familiar attitude I’m used to my best friend having. “So you know, just because I’m still standing here doesn’t mean I forgive you or that we’re friends. You’re on probation, Lachlin.”

  “Understood.” Probation is better than no shot at all.

  “Now, where are we going?”

  She hasn’t run away, and she hasn’t socked me in the stomach. She’s still here and that’s a huge win.

  “To Glory’s,” I say. “I convinced her to give you a job.”

  SCARLETT

  I should be completely absorbed in Glory’s every word because she’s offering me an amazing opportunity, but my attention is split between Glory and Jesse. Glory is describing a job I need. Jesse and I may or may not be friends again—it all depends on me.

  I pray for easy, and my life becomes more complicated. But Glory and Jesse are good complications—I think. Either that or they’re tragic mistakes. I guess time will tell.

  Glory pours hot water in a teacup she had placed in front of me, and like I do at home, I swirl the tea bag in the water. Her quaint yellow kitchen is too warm for tea, but it felt rude to decline, especially since this is my formal job interview. Not to mention a job interview at 12:30 A.M. From my seat at the table for two, I spot Jesse lazily leaning against the post of the front porch. His thumbs are hitched in his pockets and he stares out into the night.

  The rest of our walk was silent, but the silence wasn’t awkward or heavy. It was welcome and intimate. His hand occasionally brushed against mine, and each time, my heart curiously fluttered.

  On the porch, Jesse rests his head along the post and closes his eyes. He possesses grace, a quietness and a sense of solid strength. It’s not new. It’s the same sense of peace Jesse has always had when he walks his land. It’s a peace I’ve envied my entire life.

  Glory flits around the kitchen. She’s in a long blue skirt that shimmers, with a matching tank top, and her long, unruly hair flows over her shoulders and along her back. Even in the heat, she seems cool. She goes into the living room, returns and places a stack of books in the middle of the narrow table. I can’t read the covers as the tops are flipped down.

  She sits in the only other chair and sips from her tea. “It’s hawthorn berry tea.”

  I lift the cup, inhale the calming scent and take a sip. The taste automatically brings on memories of me and my mother and late nights in our kitchen talking. “My mom loves tea, and this one is a favorite. She has all sorts of different types. I think she buys most of it from some specialty store in Lexington.”

  The pride flowing from me is evident. I miss my close relationship with my mom.

  “How is your mother?” Glory asks.

  I swirl the tea bag in the cup because I honestly don’t know how to answer.

  “My relationship with my mother was also complicated,” she says. “Hawthorn berry tea helps the heart. It also helps those who have a hard time loving others and themselves.”

  I should probably buy this in bulk, then.

  “Can I see your palm?” Glory asks, then adds, “No charge.”

  That causes my lips to lift, and her touch is gentle as she holds my hand. She traces the same circles she did during my reading. “These are called islands, and they aren’t something I like to particularly see when doing a reading, nor do I like to see them where they are located on your palm. It means mental stress and an emotional disturbance. For you, I see that someone is standing in your way to happiness.”

  Nausea swirls in my stomach. “Why are you telling me this?”

  She curls my fingers into a loose fist and pats my hand. “I understand why you don’t answer personal questions, and I want you to know that you don’t have to answer any while you work for me. But I also want to make you aware that it won’t stop me from asking.”

  Not sure what to say to that so I take another drink.

  “I’ll pay you minimum wage and a half, plus bonuses for tasks done well or when I have a very profitable month. While most of the work I’ll give you can be done at home, there are times I will need you at my house, but I’ll do my best to work around a schedule that will suit you.”

  “Thank you.” We talked when I first came in, and she understood up-front that I couldn’t work in public as I’m taking on this job without my parents’ permission. She waved off any concerns by telling me that she could hire infants to sell necklaces during craft shows, but what she needed was someone with brains.

  “You will need a laptop or a computer of some sort. Do you have one?”

  I squish my lips to the side because I do own a laptop, but … “My father monitors my computer and cell.”

  “Then I’ll supply the laptop, but will you be able to keep that discreet?”

  A secret? Hidden in my room? I hope so. “Yes.”

  “For jobs done on the computer, I’ll be able to see how long you were on. For jobs not done on the computer, you’ll need to log your hours, but I’ve run this business since I was sixteen. I know how long it takes to do things so don’t think you can fake hours.”

  I set down my cup. “I thought you were psychic and would know when I was lying.”

  She laughs, and it’s weird how carefree it is. Is it possible for anyone to be that happy? Her eyes flicker over my shoulder then settle back on me again. “I am psychic, but I’m not a human lie detector. I depend upon the universe and spirits to talk to me. They aren’t always chatting nor do they tell me everything I want to know. To be honest, they are usually telling me things I wish they would keep to themselves.”

  I focus on my teacup to keep any sarcastic expression off my face. She’s giving me a job, and while I’m still skeptical, I’m a skeptic with a job.

  “You don’t believe in what I can do?”

  I shrug, not wanting to insult the person who is giving me a shot at freedom.

  “It’s okay to be honest. In fact, honesty is what I expect.”

  “Ghosts and angels talking to you seems … farfetched.”

  “I can respect that,” she says with another quick glance over my shoulder. “People have felt that way since the dawn of time. Do you know what they used to call people like me?”

  My eyebrows raise. “Witches?”

  Glory’s eyes twinkle as if that amused her. “Prophets. God spoke to Joseph and Daniel via dreams. In the New Testament, angels visited Mary and shepherds watching over their sheep. The number of people in the Bible who saw visions, talked with angels or had prophetic dreams are too many to count. I have a harder time understanding that people can believe in God yet think He doesn’t have any more prophets.”

  I snort. “God’s prophet charges fifty dollars for a half hour?”

  “I never said I was a saint or that I was doing it right.” Her smile widens, and I smile along with her. “While I’m more than likely not, as in definitely not, doing what I’m supposed to be doing with my gift, I do help people, and as you work with me, you’ll understand.”

  I take another sip of tea as I have nothing productive to add to any of that. Glory looks over my shoulder again, but this time her gaze settles there for a few seconds and a cold chill runs along my spine. “Why do you keep doing that?”

  Glory slowly returns her focus to me. “Doing what?”

  My eyes widen in a Hello? and I wave my hand near my shoulder. “That.”

  She relaxes back in her seat, taking her cup of tea with her. “Don’t tell Jesse because he’ll be angry, but Suzanne is here. She’s currently attached herself to you.”

  My entire body goes into a deep freeze and then I blink. Twice. “Why?”

  “Don’t worry. She’s not present all the time. Spirits need the right amount of energy to linger in this realm, and very few have enough energy to remain long. She initially attached herself to Jesse, but since he’s on the porch doing nothing, she decided to join us.”

  “Why?” I’m a freaking parrot.

  “Because there are
things she believes you should know.”

  “Like what?”

  “This is why being a psychic is a hard job. You have to know what to say, how to say it and,” she glares over my shoulder, “when not to say it.”

  Silence. Glory purses her lips as if she’s agitated. “It’s not the time, and you can disagree with me as much as you want, but it’s not going to make me change my mind.”

  Her eyes wander toward the counter, near the window. “You can’t do it. You’re a new spirit.” She pauses then rolls her eyes. “Very mature. Did you kiss people with that mouth?”

  The temperature dips, goose bumps form along my arms and the curtain moves. Frightening electricity shoots through my blood, and my chair squeaks beneath me as I jerk. There was no wind. Not even a slight breeze. The trees didn’t rustle. The other curtain didn’t move, yet that one did. My heart pounds, my hands shake and there has to be an explanation.

  “Good job, Suzanne, you moved a curtain. You used so much energy you won’t be around when I speak to Jesse.” Glory’s expression softens. “Please take it slow.”

  Yeah. Okay. Beautiful. We’ve wandered well past my comfort level of crazy for the evening. Whether this is real or a great act or whatever, I’m done. I stretch my fingers because the tingle in my body is indicative of me losing my sanity. “I need to go home.”

  Glory stands along with me, and when she walks into the living room, I follow.

  “I need you to take these two boxes with you. Put the pendants on the chains and price them for sale. I have a craft fair this week and will need those done quickly. The other box is full of receipts and purchase orders I need entered into my system. Jesse?”

  The screen door opens, Jesse walks in and the way his gaze automatically seeks mine creates a warmth in my blood. A blush heats my cheeks, and I tuck a stray hair behind my ear because I suddenly have no idea what to do with my hands. He winks at me and I melt.

  “Jesse,” Glory says, “can you swing by tomorrow and pick up these boxes and the laptop for Ms. Copeland? How you two smuggle them into her house is not my responsibility, but Ms. Copeland, it is your responsibility to keep my property safe.” She pins me with a serious look.

  “I promise to take care of everything,” I say. “Thank you for what you’re doing for me.”

  “You’re welcome.” She glances at Jesse. “And the boxes?”

  “I’ll drop by in the morning,” Jesse says.

  “Since Ms. Copeland’s father monitors her cell, if I should need to reach her, do I have permission to contact you and trust that you’ll relay that information to her in a timely fashion?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  “Good. And Ms. Copeland, I highly recommend that with your first paycheck that you purchase something obsidian. Keeping in mind the islands on your palm, you’ll need the protection. I’ll give you a twenty percent discount on any of your purchases. Now the two of you should leave as I have a busy day tomorrow.”

  “You ready?” Jesse asks.

  I nod because I constantly find myself at a loss for words when I’m in this cottage. Jesse walks out, but before I follow, Glory calls, “Ms. Copeland?”

  She hurries for the kitchen. I stay inside while Jesse waits for me on the porch.

  “You can call me Scarlett,” I say.

  “I know,” she replies from the kitchen. “But calling you Ms. Copeland shows that I see you as an adult and you’ll be making some very adult decisions soon.” She returns with the books and dumps them into my hands. “You need to read these.”

  Three books. Two on reading palms. Another on analyzing body language. My eyebrows pinch together. “What are these for?”

  “For you to learn. I’ve decided to take you on as my mentee.”

  My face contorts. Um … “I’m not psychic.”

  Glory places her cool fingertips on my wrist and gives me a squeeze. “Sweetheart, sometimes neither am I. As I said, you’ll soon understand. Now go. Your father will be checking in on you earlier than normal, and Jesse will figure out he needs to talk to you.”

  Mental whiplash, and I stop having coherent thoughts.

  “You were smart to follow the caterpillar. Continue to let him be your guide.”

  Unable to say anything intelligent, I offer Glory a jumbled “Thank you,” then leave.

  JESSE

  Scarlett left Glory’s with three books in her hands, and I gave them back to Glory, telling her that I’d pick them up later with the other things. It’s a long trek, and I didn’t want her flipping through books on the way, but talking to me. The girl walking next to me through the field is the reincarnation of my best friend from the past. She’s telling me how she freaked out when Glory chatted with some “spirit.” Scarlett laughs, and my soul lifts with the sound. We don’t need the moon or stars to guide us. She’s shining brighter than any light that could lead us home.

  “I know I can keep this a secret from Dad, and I’ll be able to make a ton of money and I’m going to be able to figure out how to go to the University of Kentucky.” Scarlett skips ahead of me, does a circle like she did when we were kids and claps her hands. “I have a job!”

  She does and seeing her happy scabs over old, open wounds.

  “Jesse,” there’s a breathlessness in her tone that makes me feel lighter, “thank you.”

  My stomach drops. She needs to know why I’m helping her. I’ve told her before, but she didn’t believe me. If I do this wrong, the wall that’s currently down will go back up before I have the chance to blink. Now that Scarlett is in my life, I don’t want to lose her again.

  I slow when we reach my backyard. Scarlett’s aglow, a brilliant smile gracing her lips, but it fades as she searches my face. “Are you okay?”

  “I need your help.”

  “With what?”

  “I need your help to keep my land.” Scarlett remains quiet as I unload Marshall’s lack of confidence in me, his influence over Gran, her tribunal decision and why they weren’t going to inform Scarlett about her involvement until closer to the vote.

  Halfway through, I have a tough time looking at Scarlett as horror overtakes her expression. I understand. I can’t escape this nightmare. I finish speaking, and her continued silence is almost too heavy for me to bear.

  “So you weren’t kidding at lunch,” she finally says in a quiet voice that creates guilt. Her doubt in me, in how I’ve declared us friends again, is so tangible I could reach out and touch it.

  “No.” I shove my hands in my pockets, and wish I could punch my fist through that wall she’s throwing up. “I see your mind working, and it’s not what you think.”

  Her eyes flash to mine, dark with anger. “Don’t do that. Don’t tell me what I should think or how I should feel. I get enough of that crap at home.”

  I scan the looming fortress of stone she calls home. Thanks to Mom’s stellar choice in guys, I know how to take a hit and I know from experience a verbal hit can be just as damaging. Is that what’s happening to her? Is her dad the manipulative asshole who punches with words? Better question: Does she know it?

  “Fair enough,” I say slowly. “You’re correct, I don’t have any right to tell you how to feel. Neither does anyone else.” I pause, giving that time to sink in. “I want us to be friends again. Not because I need your vote, but because I miss you. This whole thing started out with me needing your help, but the rest of it has been real. I haven’t lied to you. Not from the start.”

  “What if I don’t vote for you?” she pushes. “Are you still going to be friends with me?”

  It’s a tough question, it’s real, and I give her an honest answer. “I’ll probably be mad for a while, but we’ll still be friends. I’m tired of not having you in my life.”

  Her shoulders roll forward as if she’s exhausted. “I need to go before Dad notices I’m gone.”

  She’s heavy as we cross the street, and it almost makes me wish I hadn’t mentioned the vote, but not doing so would have b
een unfair. We reach the tree near her room, and she pauses as she surveys the climb. Up is more daunting than down.

  As I start to take a knee to give her a boost, she says, “I’ll vote for you to keep the land.”

  My head jerks up. “What?”

  “I’ll vote for you to keep the land. Even if you didn’t help with the job, even if you had called me an ice princess every day until the end of May, even if you had never spoken a word to me, regardless of how you treat me going forward, I will vote for you to keep your land.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this land belongs to you. It always has. I disagree with what your gran and Marshall are trying to do. If you fail, you fail. If you succeed, you succeed. I’m sick and tired of adults acting like we’re glass that will shatter if we fall. Sometimes they need to let us fall. Sometimes we need to make our own mistakes. Sometimes, adults need to butt out.”

  I don’t think she’s talking about Marshall, but that’s okay. I agree with every word.

  “You don’t have to do this.” Her tone is sad. “I promise you’ll have my vote regardless.”

  “Do what?”

  She gestures between the two of us. “Pretend we’re friends.”

  I’ve seen that look before on my mother, and it’s an expression I never wanted to see again. I didn’t have a word for that look as a child, but Scarlett gave it a name: empty. Pale face, haunted eyes and a brokenness that covers her like a shroud.

  Someone’s hurting her—somehow. I have the urge to gather her up, hold her close and run. To take her as far from here as I can carry her, but the farthest I could take her is to the edge of my land and something tells me that wouldn’t be far enough. At least not for her.

  To survive, I need my land. To survive, she needs to leave. I don’t know how to fix her, but I do know how to help staunch some of the bleeding. “When can you meet me again?”

  “Maybe we can sneak in the boxes while my mom and dad go grocery shopping—”

  “That’s not what I meant. When can you sneak out your window like you did tonight?”

  Her eyes widen in disbelief, as if me asking to hang with her again was never in her realm of possibilities. “I don’t know. Tomorrow night I’m supposed to help Camila throw Evangeline a birthday party and then after that it’s school nights so—”