by Erin Zak
* * *
“Yeah, well, I don’t know if I’m cut out to lift Mom off the toilet when the time comes.” Bernadette Thompson stared straight ahead at the wallpaper-covered wall as she sat at the kitchen table of her mother’s house. She was fidgeting with the lace doily that normally resided in the middle where the hot teapot would sit. Her left leg was crossed over her right, and it was bobbing up and down, a common occurrence when she was stressed. Or irritated. Or, hell, even if she was breathing. It was a nervous tick she could never control. Unfortunately, her anxiety led to quite a few eccentricities.
“If that time comes, Bernie. If.”
“Either way, I don’t think I can do it.”
“You’re being irrational.” Paul’s voice was firm, but there was a hint of understanding underneath his words. Almost as if he got what Bernadette was saying but didn’t want to admit it.
“Hardly.” Bernadette laughed. “You’re better equipped to deal with Mom. And you know that.” That was a lie. She knew she was better equipped to deal with their eighty-five-year-old deaf mother. But better equipped or not, she still would love some help. “All I need is for you to sit with her for a few evenings. Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. That’s all.”
“What am I supposed to do if I have a date with my wife?”
“Jesus, Paul. Are you serious? She’s your mother.” She lowered her head and rubbed her temple with her free hand. “I need some help. I need to be able to take a breath.” She heard his sharp intake of air on the other end of the line.
“Marci,” he shouted, and then the line was muffled. Bernadette heard him say something about understanding, and how great she was, and oh, thank you so much, honey. It made her want to vomit. “Okay. Fine.” Paul was back and slightly breathless. Of course he was. Marci had him by the balls. “Three days a week. Deal?”
“Six at night until I get home, though. Some nights might be later than others.”
“No later than midnight.”
“Oh, geez, thanks, Dad.” Bernadette rolled her eyes. She looked over her shoulder to the living area, at her mother who was sitting in the recliner watching Jeopardy. “Spending time with her is good for you, Paul. She’s the only parent we have.”
“I’m on my way over now,” Paul said after he let out a very heavy sigh. The phone beeped on the other end, and the call was disconnected.
She sighed after she set her phone on the kitchen table. It wasn’t that their mother was an invalid. She was far from that. She got around great, and she was completely with it. Her memory was amazing, and even though she’d lost her hearing at the age of sixteen, she could communicate with her voice and her hands perfectly. But Bernadette felt guilty leaving her to fend for herself. How lonely it must be not hearing a thing. Leaving her at night instantly brought back memories of their dad. “Take care of her, please…Don’t let her fade away,” he had begged as he clutched at her wrist from his hospice bed. “She will never make it on her own.”
And Bernadette promised because of course she would never let her mother fade away. Never. The only problem was the promise was becoming heavier and heavier.
“Bernie, honey?”
She turned her head when she heard her mother’s voice and footsteps approach. Phyllis Thompson was Italian, full-blooded and full-bodied, with chiseled facial features, even under her aging skin. She’d been a real looker when she was younger, and Bernadette was thankful she took after her. In fact, most people told Bernadette she was a spitting image. The same dark hair, although her mother’s had grayed years earlier, the same dark brown, deep-set eyes, and the same full lips. When Bernadette was growing up, her mother had often been mistaken for her older sister. And it never failed to make her mother laugh and laugh, as if it were the first time she’d heard it. Bernadette would smile because it did warm her heart. It was amazing how such a tiny compliment could make someone so happy.
“Is everything okay?” her mother asked as she laid a hand on Bernadette’s shoulder and squeezed before she sat to the right. Bernadette knew it was because her mother still believed she could hear a little out of her left ear. It wasn’t true, of course, but for some reason, it made her happy and Bernadette never argued.
“Yes,” Bernadette signed, her fist gently nodding in the air. “Paulie is coming over to watch you tonight.” Her hands moved quickly, but instead of spelling Paul’s entire name, she used the letter P and signed handsome. It was the American Sign Language name their mother gave him as a baby, and it never changed. Bernadette’s ASL name was the sign for beautiful, also signed with the first letter of her name. It made things a little simpler, when in reality, nothing was simple about growing up with a deaf parent. But Bernadette wouldn’t trade her mother for anything.
“It’ll be nice to see him,” her mother said aloud with a smile. Her teeth were false, but her smile was still beautiful.
Bernadette smiled. As time wore on, why did it start to piss her off that her mother was always so kind? Especially about Paul. Was she beginning to resent her? The thought nauseated her. Bernadette wanted to tell her she had to practically beg and plead with Paul, but why? It would only hurt her mother’s feelings, and it wasn’t worth it. Even though parents never admitted they had a favorite child, Paul was clearly the favorite. Ever since he got a scholarship to play football at Notre Dame. Bernadette had always been in his shadow, even though she was the oldest. And far from a screwup. She graduated with honors at Northwestern, went to Gallaudet University in Washington, DC , to get her American Sign Language interpreting certification, and did whatever she could to make sure she was everything her parents needed her to be, including selling her two-bedroom condo in River North to move back home. Truth be told, she probably tried too hard, especially while their father was alive. But cancer sucked, and of course, he wasn’t strong enough, and of course, it took him, and of course, he made her promise to not leave, and of course, Paul never had to make such a promise, and of course, Paul got to live a life full of happiness with a gorgeous, overbearing wife and beautiful children.
Of fucking course.
“Yes, I’m sure he’s looking forward to it.” Bernadette faced her mother fully. “Look,” she signed. “He’s going to watch you three times a week so I can interpret for Connie on the weekends. Okay?”
“How wonderful for Connie. Her parlor must be taking off.”
“It is. The feature story in the Chicago Tribune and the Sun-Times has increased business. People are starting to flood in. Everyone wants to get their love reading by a deaf woman. It’s been super crazy.” She signed the last part and laughed because her mother laughed as well, and it was always so great to hear. “I kept the articles. You can read them if you’d like.” She motioned toward the stack of newspapers on the counter.
“I already read them, Bernie.” Her mother smiled. She reached over and put her hand over Bernadette’s before she finished with, “And your name was in both of them. You’re going to be famous. Interpreter for the stars.” That time, she signed as she spoke. As she aged, she switched back and forth between signing and speaking. She said her arms were tired. Bernadette never argued, but she sometimes missed watching her mother’s beautiful hands glide through the air. And there was something about hands…they always caught Bernadette’s attention. She was drawn to hands, and because of that, she was fluent in ASL before she went to preschool. And she’d ended up teaching most of her friends.
“Connie needs to come to dinner before she becomes too famous for this little town.”
“Chicago is far from little, Mama.”
“Bernie,” her mother signed, then smiled. “You forget how happy you were when you got out of here.”
“You act like you remember it so well.” Bernadette hated when they would talk about her years in DC. It wasn’t fun, and it was never fair. Why was it so horrible that she was happier when she had no responsibilities and a million options?
Her mother pushed her chair out from the table, sto
od, and leaned over to kiss Bernadette on the forehead. “You think you aren’t my favorite, and I don’t pay attention to every single thing you do.” She put her hand under Bernadette’s chin and lifted so their eyes locked. “But I know you like the back of my hand, my dear.”
Before Bernadette could argue the comment, the lights in the house started to flash. Her mother’s eyes lit up before she said, “That must be Paulie.” She took off, gracefully gliding toward the front door. Bernadette rolled her eyes. Paul ruined yet another moment.
Of fucking course.
Chapter Two
The Accidental Psychic’s doors wouldn’t open for another two hours, and the line was already at least twenty-five people deep at the front of the shop. Bernadette felt their eyes on her as she breezed past them standing in line. She heard a few hushed whispers as she turned the corner and headed to the side door. They were going to start having to do appointments if this kept up much longer. Connie had opened the storefront four months ago, and it seemed every week she had more and more people standing in line.
Bernadette pushed her way inside through the cold metal door and was immediately met by a wide-eyed Connie. Her massive blond hair was wild and messy, a tie-dyed bandana secured around her forehead. “Where have you been?” she signed frantically. “Did you see the line? This is nuts. How is this happening? What the hell? I should have never done those interviews.” She was flailing her arms now, and Bernadette knew this was the beginning of a nervous breakdown, something she’d grown to understand over the years.
“Look at me,” Bernadette signed before she grabbed Connie by the arms and steadied her. “This is what you wanted.” She signed most of the sentence with one hand as the other squeezed Connie’s left bicep.
Connie took a deep breath. “I know, but this is nuts.” Connie spoke those words, but her voice had never developed fully as she was born deaf. Bernadette smiled because she was one of the only people Connie ever spoke around. The only times Connie ever used her voice were when she was mad or when she was scared. She was outgoing when she needed to be. But there were times when she retreated internally and put on a shy exterior. Bernadette knew Connie better than anyone, and through the years, she had witnessed the different phases. Angry-at-everyone-and-everything Connie eventually faded into the background in college, and as the years passed, sure-of-herself Connie grew and grew. But the version of Connie that needed to be present for readings was always a little hard to handle.
Connie had a gift, an amazing ability to read people’s auras, to see inside their souls. Bernadette knew how crazy it seemed to many people. Many, many, many people. They’d received death threats when they first opened from people claiming Connie was a devil worshipper, an anarchist, and—Connie’s personal favorite—an honest-to-goodness witch. “Hermione Granger, eat your heart out,” Connie would say on occasion, making Bernadette chuckle because it always happened during a stressful moment where a laugh was not only needed but necessary.
“Let’s be real, if you were such a great psychic, you probably should have seen this coming. Am I right?” Bernadette signed when Connie finally started to calm down.
Connie tilted her head and raised her right hand with her middle finger in the air. “Fuck you, you bitch,” she said. Even with barely developed vocal cords, she managed to sound snarky as fuck when she wanted.
Bernadette was laughing as she held her hands in the air and shook them before she started to sign, “Hermione Granger—”
“Eat your heart out.” Connie smiled and threw her arms around Bernadette. She hugged her tight and then released her quickly. Connie wasn’t super lovey-dovey, but she was most definitely a hugger. Bernadette never questioned hugs. “Let’s get set up.”
* * *
When Stevie and her cast mates arrived at The Accidental Psychic, there were at least ten people in front of them. She was annoyed but knew it meant she had more time to consider bailing. Did that many people think psychics knew what the fuck they were doing?
She stood patiently with her cast mates and listened to what each of them hoped to find out from the psychic. As time wore on and the line dwindled, she found herself feeling less and less as if she was going to bail and more and more as if she was going to go through with it. She kept staring at the glowing neon heart in the window with The Accidental Psychic lit up underneath. Stupid neon fucking sign.
It was almost midnight when they finally made it inside the doors. The warm air felt incredible after she’d waited outside for almost two hours. The shop smelled exactly as it should have, patchouli oil and incense, and even though Stevie rolled her eyes at the stereotype, she also found herself strangely calmed by the cliché. She glanced around the dimly lit reception area. There were dark tapestries on the walls, a Buddha statue in the corner, and a calming waterfall statue right next to the door.
A sign on the front desk requested Please Sign In. Stevie watched her friends all grabbing at the paper. She withheld the urge to write her own name down. She still hadn’t made up her mind, after all.
“Shouldn’t this woman know we’re here? Why do we have to sign in?” Stevie sat on one of the chairs in the reception area and sighed. “This is so fucking fucked up,” she said softly to herself.
Laurie sat down next to Stevie after scribbling her name on the paper. “Calm down, please. Your vibe is making me nervous.”
“Oh, I’m making you nervous? What the hell do you think this is doing to me?”
Noah sat next to Laurie and sighed. “Then leave. Jesus Christ. You’re dragging us all way down.”
Stevie leaned forward and glared at Noah. She wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he had a point. She was being ridiculous. So she sat back without engaging, took in a deep breath, and let it out, then repeated the breathing exercise three more times before she started feeling lightheaded. She felt Laurie’s hand on her knee, felt the gentle squeeze as Noah was called first.
“Wish me luck, guys,” he said before he pushed his way through the beaded curtain separating the reading room from the reception area.
Stevie leaned her head back against the window behind her chair and closed her eyes. Time seemed to be crawling, but she kept hearing each person’s name called from behind the curtains. Deondre went after Noah, and then Laurie’s name was called. Stevie opened her eyes and realized she was the only person in the waiting room. Where the hell did they all go after they were finished? She looked behind her. They weren’t outside waiting. She stood up and very, very cautiously peeked through the beads. She couldn’t see anything, so she poked her head through. There was a blond woman sitting at a table; an overhead can light was shining down on her, but the rest of the room was as dimly lit as the reception area. Through the shadows, Stevie could see someone leading Laurie through a back door. Stevie’s heart was thumping. Where were her friends going? Oh Christ, were they being kidnapped?
As the thought went through Stevie’s head, the blond woman lifted her head and made eye contact. “Oh God, I’m sorry,” Stevie almost shouted, her voice dripping with stress. “I’m not, um, I’m sorry, I’m looking for my friends.” She tried to back up, but her hair was caught in the beads, and before she knew it, she was completely making a fool of herself.
The blonde stood up and walked toward her. She held a hand up, and Stevie stopped moving as the blonde started to help untangle the beads. She was on the other side of the door now, the beads behind her, the blonde in front of her, and Stevie grinned sheepishly. “I’m super sorry. I’m going to, um, go through there”—Stevie pointed at the back door—“and find my friends.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” came a voice from behind the blonde, and Stevie glanced over immediately. “I didn’t realize we had another person waiting.”
Stevie’s breath was gone. It wasn’t caught in her throat; it wasn’t labored; it was gone. Completely gone.
The voice had come from a woman with auburn hair who glided up behind and to the left of the blonde. Stevie shoo
k her head, went to step backward, but thankfully remembered the beads. Goddamn fucking beads. She urged herself to find her breath and her voice, and when she did, she said softly, “I don’t want to do this.” The brunette smiled, and that was it. Stevie was captivated. Her teeth were so straight and so white against the bright red of her lips. The poorly lit room seemed brighter because of her megawatt smile. Her hair fell in large curls over her shoulders to the tops of her very full breasts. Stevie shook her head again, but this time it was to get the inappropriate thought out of it.
“That’s fine,” the brunette said. Her voice was soft, like velvet.
Stevie found herself having trouble standing, so she reached out to the wall to steady herself, but the brunette’s hand was the first thing she found. When her skin made contact with the brunette’s, every fiber of her being felt as if an electric current passed through her. She pulled her eyes from the brunette to the blonde then back to the brunette. “What the hell?” The blonde glanced at the brunette, who immediately let go of Stevie’s hand, and the feeling that had slammed into her disappeared instantly. “Wait a second. You felt it, too?” Stevie reached out and tried to touch the brunette’s arm as she stepped away and turned her attention toward the blonde. She seemed to ignore Stevie’s question completely, which only made her desire for an answer even stronger. The brunette started to use sign language, and Stevie felt stupid when she remembered the psychic was deaf, but she also felt as if she was intruding on a private conversation. She wanted to kick herself, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from the brunette as the two signed back and forth.
Finally, the brunette spoke as the blonde signed. “This is Constance.” Her voice was low and sultry, and Stevie’s body responded immediately. Beads of perspiration started to form along her hairline, and her stomach filled with butterflies. “She would like for you to sit with her.”
