“Yes, that happens occasionally,” I replied, “but I don’t speak about it to anyone.” I looked at my parents. Was this the answer they had hoped to hear?
“And these strange memories, they are usually about people being punished, burned at the stake, stoned, whipped, things like that?” Uncle Alexis asked.
“Not just that sort of thing, no. I remember being at ocean shores, riding in horse-drawn sleighs, being at prayer events with lots of candles and chanting. Things like that,” I said. “I could go on and on about it.” They wanted me to talk? All right, I’d talk. They’d be sorry.
Uncle Alexis smiled. “That’s not necessary, dear. We also understand that you are in the prognostication business, a modern-day soothsayer.”
“I promised my mother I wouldn’t do that anymore.”
“But you were successful as a prophet?” Aunt Suzume asked.
“Maybe not all the time,” I said.
“We understand why your mother might be a little nervous about such things, but you need not be ashamed of anything with us,” Uncle Alexis said. He had finished his wine. My father rose quickly to pour him another glassful. “Thank you, Mark. Your uncle Wade thinks you are quite an extraordinary young lady,” he continued.
“I’m very fond of Uncle Wade. I’m sure he exaggerates a little,” I added.
Uncle Alexis widened and softened his smile.
“Modesty. That’s good,” he said. He looked at my mother, who shifted as if she was uncomfortable. “And you have excellent school grades and have never gotten into trouble at school or outside of school?”
“Maybe I haven’t had enough opportunity,” I replied.
For a moment, I thought my father and mother would tell me to go to my room or something. They looked as displeased as they used to when I said things that embarrassed them in front of their friends during my younger days.
“What do you mean?” Aunt Suzume asked.
“I haven’t gone out much. I’ve been to a party, and I’ve met some friends, but I really haven’t done all that much socializing.”
Uncle Alexis nodded. “Your parents have been careful. That’s not a bad thing.”
I didn’t reply. Why weren’t they changing the subject? Why was it all about me? “Where do you live, Uncle Alexis?” I asked, hoping to change the subject myself.
“Oh, we’re in transit at the moment. We’ve lived abroad for many years, but we’re thinking about returning to Boston. Wherever we are, we hope you’ll come visit.”
“Of course I would,” I said. I wanted to add that I would go anywhere since I hadn’t been anywhere. “What did you do as a profession?” I asked. I wanted to make it clear that I was told little or nothing about him or my great-aunt.
“I was a doctor, a therapist,” he replied.
“A very, very successful one,” my father added.
I almost asked him why he hadn’t sent me to see him years ago, but Uncle Alexis quickly added that this was when he was living abroad.
“And you had no children?” I asked. I knew my mother wouldn’t want me to be so direct and inquisitive, but Uncle Alexis didn’t seem to mind.
He smiled, in fact. “I’ve had many children,” he said. “All clients. I specialized in child psychology.”
“But—”
“No. We were married late in life, and we didn’t have any children of our own,” he said.
I caught a movement in Aunt Suzume’s face, the way her eyes looked down. They weren’t telling me the truth, but I would never dare say it.
“Your great-aunt Suzume was a well-known opera singer in Japan in her youth,” Uncle Alexis said. “She was very dedicated. It took a great deal of persuasion to get her to think of me with as much passion.”
Everyone smiled. Aunt Suzume looked a little embarrassed, suddenly like a little girl to me. I could hear her singing.
“I need to get to our lunch preparations,” my mother said. She rose and looked at me, and I rose, too.
“I will help,” Aunt Suzume said, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it.
“We’re fine. You enjoy your visit with Mark,” she insisted.
Aunt Suzume didn’t put up any argument. She nodded, and then my mother and I left to go to the kitchen. The others retreated to my father’s office. I heard them go in and close the door.
My mother worked silently. I could see she was in deep thought.
“I like them,” I told her.
She looked at me as though I had no right to say it. Then her face softened, and she nodded. “Of course you do,” she said.
I began to bring things out to the dining-room table. I thought I heard what sounded like chanting coming from my father’s office. I started toward it, but my mother called to me, and I returned to the kitchen. This time, when I brought something to the dining room, there was no sound coming from my father’s office.
There was a change when we all sat at the table. I was relieved that the conversation was no longer centered around me. Uncle Alexis described some of the places they had been and talked about connecting with old friends. I was surprised at how many my father remembered or knew. Both Uncle Alexis and Aunt Suzume raved about my mother’s cooking and especially about the mincemeat pie.
“I haven’t had it so good for a very long time,” Uncle Alexis said. And then he put down his knife and fork and leaned forward toward me, looking suddenly very hard and serious. He spoke as if we were in the middle of a sentence, a sentence that had been hanging in the air just waiting to be brought back to our ears. “And all these predictions you have made and you say you no longer make, were any meant to hurt someone, to make them sad or tired or give them any sort of pain, whether it be physical or emotional?”
“No,” I said. “It was to help them prevent any of that. That’s why I wasn’t happy about being told never to do it,” I said, my voice firm, even snappy.
I didn’t look at anyone else. He didn’t flinch or blink until I leaned toward him.
“Who are you?” I asked—more like demanded.
His eyes began to widen, and a tight smile spread from his lips and into his cheeks.
“Sage!” my mother cried.
Uncle Alexis put up his hand. “I apologize,” he said. “I can’t keep the therapist quiet inside me. Too many years of practicing. Can you tell me one thing, one very good thing you did for someone because of your visions, your premonitions?”
I looked at my parents. They were of one face, frightened. I sensed it. This was probably the most important question of all.
“There was a girl at school whose father was sexually abusing her,” I said.
He nodded, his face full of anticipation.
“She had bruises. I had visions about her, and I left a note with the school nurse. I didn’t sign it with my name, but it was enough to get her to investigate. The police were brought into it, and the girl was taken out of our school. She’s in a special school being counseled.”
He sat back, nodding softly.
“You never told us about this,” my mother said.
“I was afraid to, because of how angry you get whenever I mention anything like my visions.”
“It’s all right,” my father told me.
I nodded. Then I looked at Uncle Alexis again. “Who are you?” I asked, a little more fervently this time.
“Who do you think I am?”
“I don’t know . . . yet,” I said. “But I will.”
He started to laugh. Aunt Suzume smiled. My father smiled, too. Only my mother kept her face solemn, her eyes still awash with concern.
I rose and began to clean up. Everyone just watched me, but I no longer felt timid or nervous under their watchful eyes. I didn’t understand why, but I sensed a new strength in myself. It was as if I had leaped years ahead. I had passed some test, and although I wasn’t sure what it was or what it meant, I felt a sense of accomplishment.
They returned to their conversations about people I had never met or known
. I listened with half an ear. My mind was racing with too many other thoughts. I was loading the dishwasher when my mother stepped into the kitchen to tell me they were leaving. I followed her out to say good-bye.
Uncle Alexis took my hand into both of his and smiled. “Please forgive me for being so inquisitive, Sage. You brought me back to my younger days, when I was very involved in my work.”
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not,” I said, and he laughed.
“You don’t need a therapist,” he said. “You will be fine.”
He hugged me, Aunt Suzume kissed and hugged me, and then they said good-bye to my mother. My father followed them out.
I thought my mother was smiling at me. It was as if she had been caged in ice, and it was all cracking up around her and melting away. She surprised me by putting her arm around me.
“Thanks for helping with lunch and doing all the cleanup, Sage,” she said.
I knew I was beaming.
We paused when the phone rang. She looked at me.
“It’s for me,” I said. The vibrations were clear.
“Did they say anything to you after I left you at the mall last night?” Summer asked as soon as I said hello.
“They think Jason drugged them and all the boys were in on it. Ginny made me swear I wouldn’t tell what they told me, but this is not going to be a secret well kept under lock and key.”
He laughed. “I agree. There’s trouble in River City.”
“Pardon?”
“A song in The Music Man. I saw the show in London years ago.”
“Oh. Yes, Monday will be very interesting. Everyone will be wondering why no one is talking to each other.”
“Except us. We won’t be wondering, and we’ll talk to each other.”
“Will we?”
“I want to see you tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“I want to do what we did last night but without any subterfuge. No hiding, no deceit, just a boy and a girl going on a dinner date. Ask your parents. I’ll come to meet them.”
The very idea made me tremble. Before I could say anything, he rattled off his phone number.
“I don’t know about this,” I said. “I mean, they hate my pulling anything surprising on them and—”
“Use your powers of persuasion the way you used them on Mr. Jacobs,” he insisted. “I have faith in you,” he added, and then said good-bye before I could tell him that was something I would never do to my parents, even if I was able to do it.
18
As it turned out, I didn’t have to rely on any powers of persuasion. I had no doubt that if things had not gone as well as they had with Uncle Alexis and Aunt Suzume, my parents would have said no immediately, but it truly was as if a page had been turned, a door opened, and chains unlocked.
“Where does he want to take you?” my mother asked.
“Just to dinner, so we can talk and get to know each other more.”
She looked at my father.
He shrugged and smiled. “As Uncle Alexis says, Felicia, we’ve got to let her grow up,” he said, almost in a whisper.
“Young people grow up too fast today. They don’t know it, but they miss the best part of their lives, innocence,” she said.
“Innocence has become a luxury in this world, Felicia. You know that,” he said.
“Too well,” she said. “Tell him to come in and spend a few minutes with us,” she told me, which was her way of saying yes.
“Thanks, Mother,” I said, and went to call Summer.
He picked up almost before the phone rang. “I knew you could do it,” he said before I told him.
“How did you know they would say yes?”
“I believe in you, Sage. I believe that whatever you want to do, you can do, as long as you want it enough.”
“Blind optimism,” I said. “Okay. You’ll have to come in and spend fifteen or twenty minutes under the bright lights. What time will you arrive?”
“Six thirty. Don’t worry. I’ll be Johnny Perfect.”
“Don’t be too Johnny Perfect. They’ll see you’re trying too hard to please them and that you’re being false.”
“Okay. I’ll just be myself, reasonably well behaved. Don’t worry. Rather, yes worry,” he corrected.
“Thanks.”
“No. That means you want to be with me so much that you’ll be on pins and needles praying I go over well.”
“I’ve got to warn you,” I said, annoyed at how right he was, “my mother can smell arrogance, and she’s allergic to it.”
He laughed. “See you at six thirty on the dot.”
After I hung up, I went about choosing what to wear. I really didn’t have the variety of fun clothes the other girls had. I had to improvise again, matching a blouse with a skirt first and then going back to my one pair of designer jeans. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I decided I wasn’t making enough of a fuss over a dinner date, wasn’t making it seem as special as it should be, so I put on a dress, the last one my mother had approved of. It was a slip-on, rhubarb-colored, soft wool-blend sweater dress with wide ribbing at the V neck and additional ribbing at the cuffs and waist. It fell to midthigh, which was probably a little high for her taste, but I believed the thing that got her approval was the dress being labeled an angelic dress. How could you criticize angels?
She bought it for me almost two months ago, and at the time, it was a little looser at the hips and in the bodice. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I realized that the changes I thought were subtle in my body suddenly looked more pronounced. My bra felt tighter, and my cleavage was deeper. I ran the tips of my fingers along the sides of my neck and then to the base of my throat. There was something richer about my complexion. There was a slightly rosy tint above my breasts. It was almost as if it had happened overnight. I wasn’t upset about it. If anything, it made me more self-confident.
I let my hair down and watched how softly the strands floated to my shoulders. Even my hair looked thicker, more radiant. I felt it to convince myself that I wasn’t imagining it. Was it terrible to be so pleased with and enamored of yourself? When do you cross the line, become narcissistic and in danger of being your own worst enemy? Somehow I was sure I was wise enough to handle my budding maturity. I hoped that wasn’t overconfidence.
I decided to wear only my pentacle this time and no earrings. Of course I wore the ring Uncle Wade had given me. It was almost a part of my finger by now. I touched it, recalling Summer’s matching pendant. Then my eyes were drawn back to my image in the mirror, and suddenly, a strange thing happened. Summer’s face seemed to emerge out of mine, his smile soft and tender but his eyes full of lust. I actually stepped back and caught my breath. The image disappeared quickly, but I felt a little shaken.
You’re thinking about him too much, I told myself. You’re too worried about pleasing him, attracting him. It’s becoming dangerously close to an obsession. He’s your first boyfriend, Sage Healy. Get hold of yourself. You’ll only embarrass yourself. Find something else to think about.
I had gotten myself ready far too early anyway, putting myself into an even more nervous state. I was worrying too much about how my parents, especially my mother, were going to react to him. I could easily imagine her having a change of mind and telling me I couldn’t go out with him after all. It wasn’t something I foresaw the way I saw events that involved other people. It was just a palpable fear. I tried submerging myself in homework to keep from thinking about it, but every few minutes, I looked at the clock. I decided I would go down at six fifteen, and the moment the clock’s hands indicated it, I leaped out of my chair, brushed my hair once more, ran my hands over my dress to make it look smooth, and hurried out.
My parents were in my father’s office, but they heard me and came out. They paused in the hallway and looked at me.
“I must say, you know how to make yourself attractive without making it too obvious,” my father said. His sincerity took me by surprise,
not that he hadn’t given me compliments in the past. It was just the expression on his face. He looked like he hadn’t realized a girl like me actually lived upstairs. My mother said nothing. She just nodded, which I took to mean she approved of what I had chosen to wear.
“Thank you, Dad,” I said.
“I’m glad you’re wearing your pentacle.”
He looked at my mother, who bobbed her head almost reluctantly. I wondered if this was a good time to mention that Summer’s father had given him a pendant similar to my ring and that his father had a pentacle on the wall in his office, too, but I held that back, afraid my mother would see something wrong or strange about it.
“She really is growing up fast,” my father said.
“Too fast,” my mother muttered.
I saw the way they looked at each other. My father had that appeal in his eyes, that way of asking her to remain calm. How long did she want it to take? How could I be so far behind and still have any friends my age? Why couldn’t she realize that?
I went into the living room to wait for Summer. My mother went into the kitchen to begin preparations for their dinner. My father followed me and sat in his favorite chair. I was too nervous to sit. I stood near the window that faced the front.
“So this boy is a good student, I take it?” he asked.
“What? Oh, yes, very good, very well read considering he was homeschooled for so long.”
“Homeschooled? And this was because . . .”
“He and his father traveled so much.”
“That’s hard on someone so young,” my father said. “You told your mother recently that his mother was killed in a car accident?”
“Hit by a drunk driver while she was crossing the street. He went through a red light.”
“Tragic. Have you met his father?” he asked.
Before I could respond, I saw Summer drive up.
“He’s here,” I announced.
My mother heard me and came in from the kitchen. She stood beside my father, both of them full of anticipation. I watched Summer get out of his car and straighten his clothes, brushing down his pants and then checking his hair in the side-view mirror. It brought a smile to my face. He looked so handsome, in a dark gray sports jacket, black tie, and black slacks. Surely he’d win them over, I thought.
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