“You must be Elle.” She holds out her hand.
“Yes, and you’re Mrs. Carmichael?”
“Yes, it’s so nice to meet you. Please, come inside.” With a wide sweep of her arm, she directs me into the house. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.” Her teal-colored dress flows as she walks and I notice that she’s not wearing shoes.
“No, not at all.” I trail behind, looking around. “My mother is a real estate broker. She knows her way around most of the Tri-State area.”
Jocelyn smiles warmly. “That’s convenient. Unfortunately, my sense of direction doesn’t fare me well.” She continues to lead me toward the back of the house while I scan the walls and tabletops for photos of Scott. There’s a large bookcase at the end of the hall, the perfect place for a framed photo of that beautiful face, but all I see are books. And they’re not the hardbound, decorative books that my mother uses when she’s staging a house. They have creases in the spine and bits of paper sticking out of them, like they have actually been used. Scott has probably read every book on the shelf.
As we near the back of the staircase, I notice a large painting of an angel, framed in gold leaf. It looks like an oil painting. The angel is young and very beautiful. Her eyes are piercing, like she’s looking right through me.
“Scott bought it for me at an antique sale in Rome.” I feel Jocelyn’s breath on the back of my neck as she peers over my shoulder. “I think it cost him more to have it shipped than to buy it.” She giggles. “It’s one of the few things I brought with me when I moved in here. I just love it—”
“You live here?” I interrupt.
“Yes, and now that he built me my own studio, I don’t have to commute across town to the space I was renting.”
“That is very nice of him,” I say.
“He says there’s nothing too good for his mother.” She gives an uneasy laugh. “Follow me, and please watch your step.”
I glance over at the painting before descending the stairs. As I step down, I have a strange feeling I’m being watched.
Chapter Three
The scent of lavender grows stronger with each step. The lights are dim and I hesitate at the bottom stair.
“Go ahead,” Jocelyn coaxes. “I know it’s a little dark down here, but I think it’s more relaxing that way.”
There is music playing softly and I inhale wonderful fragrances. It’s more than just lavender in the air – there is eucalyptus and jasmine, working harmoniously together. There are two small benches and a long wooden table with an array of burning candles. A large glass pitcher filled with water and lemon slices is set next to a gurgling fountain. Across the sitting area is a doorway leading to a studio. The bamboo floors are distressed and the walls are painted pale green. If Kate were here now, she would probably frown upon the upgrades, complaining that the contemporary design doesn’t keep with the integrity of the house.
“After you.” Jocelyn extends her arm so I can pass.
“This is a lovely studio you have, Mrs. Carmichael.”
“I told you, call me Jocelyn. After all, I feel like I already know you.”
I feel a smile tug my lip. “Does Dr. Carmichael talk about me?”
“Believe it or not, I can probably tell him more about you than he can tell me.” Jocelyn gives a blushing grin. “And while you’re here, why don’t you refer to him as Scott? That’s how I think of him.”
I nod. “Okay.” My head is suddenly swimming with questions.
“Good. Now, come here, Elle, and have a seat on the mat.”
I walk toward the middle of the room, where two yoga mats are spread over the wooden floor. Jocelyn sits down first and crosses her legs. I follow her lead and have a seat on the mat next to her.
“Jocelyn, what did you mean when you said that you can tell Scott more about me than he could?” I raise my brow in confusion.
“I don’t want you to think that my son comes home and tells me all about his patients. He respects the Hippocratic Oath.” She puts her arms in the air and begins to stretch.
“I’m sure he does.” I frown. “So, then how do you know about me?”
“I’m clairvoyant,” Jocelyn says, like it is the most normal thing in the world.
“You’re psychic?” I inch my way closer to her.
She pauses for a moment, as if reflecting on the question. “I’ve been blessed in much the same way my son was blessed with his intellect. It’s a little unfair that there’s no scientific recognition for extrasensory intelligence, don’t you think? ‘Pseudoscience’ – that’s what they call it.”
“Pseudoscience? What’s that?” I ask, genuinely interested.
“Well, you know how Hollywood has the Kardashians? Pseudoscience is sort of like the Kardashians of the science world.”
I suddenly knew what she meant.
“A lot of so called ‘real’ scientists don’t seem to understand it. And some are simply afraid to believe in something they can’t see under their microscopes.”
“Why?” I move even closer to Jocelyn.
“Because of the backlash they might get from some of their colleagues.” Jocelyn puts her arms down and places the backs of her hands over her knees. “They don’t want to risk being called a quack, I guess.”
“How about Dr. Carmichael – I mean, Scott? Does he believe someone can predict the future?”
“Well, he believes in me,” she says demurely.
“Of course.” I can feel myself blush.
“Let’s just say my son is smart enough to know that he doesn’t know everything.” Jocelyn closes her eyes and begins waving her arms back and forth overhead.
“What have you told him?” I ask. “You said before that you tell him things. Do you see things about me?”
“Yes.”
“Well? What do you see?” I feel myself starting to grow impatient. Will I have to drag everything out of this woman?
“I see that you will have a transplant,” she says with her eyes closed. I wonder if she is seeing something right now. A softball-sized lump begins to fill my throat. As much as I want to know the answer, I didn’t prepare for this truth telling. I had expected to be chanting a silly mantra right about now.
“When?” I can barely get the question out.
“Soon.”
“What? Are you sure?” I suddenly feel naïve. How can I possibly believe what this woman says? The only reason I don’t run for the door is because she’s Scott’s mother.
“What else do you know? I mean, see? I mean…” I don’t know what I mean anymore. Scott’s mother couldn’t possibly be cruel enough to make something like this up. Could she? “How do you know that I’ll get a transplant?”
Jocelyn shrugs. “I’m psychic.” She laughs. “So, you can believe me when I tell you that you will have the transplant and your body will not reject it.”
“This is crazy. I mean,” I scratch my head and try to find the right words, “what if you saw that I was going to die? Would you be so forthcoming?”
“Scott wanted you to learn how to relax. That’s a skill you will need no matter what life throws at you. Relax. I can see you’re getting tense, and that will defeat the purpose of our meeting. The timing of all this really does work out.” Her voice is dull, like we are conversing about the weather. She casually raises her arms overhead. “You will be able to use the strategies I teach you while you are recuperating from the transplant.”
“Jocelyn, I have to be honest. This just doesn’t make sense to me.” I’m overcome with emotions: shock, curiosity, fear, and excitement.
“I know this is scary, but believe me – everything will work out.” Jocelyn pulls the aqua tunic over her head, revealing a thin frame encased in a black leotard. She is far from frail – I can see the definition of her muscles on her arms and back. I watch in awe as she puts both hands flat on the floor and lifts her legs straight into the air, until she is holding tight in a perfect handstand.
A
fter a few seconds, she turns right side up. “You’re wondering how I can do this at my age, right?”
If she were really psychic, she’d know I was actually wondering if what she told me about my transplant was true.
“I’m actually pretty young for a woman whose son is already a doctor.” She laughs. “I had Scott at a young age. I was only married to Scott’s father for a very short time. He left us when Scott was just a baby.”
I want to steer the topic back toward my transplant, but I don’t want to appear rude. “It seems like you did a great job raising him on your own. What was it like to raise a genius?” Under normal circumstances, this would be a question I’d really care to hear the answer to. Now, I have to physically force myself to seem interested.
Jocelyn takes a moment before responding. “Early on, I didn’t even realize Scott was a genius. I thought all three-year-olds could recite the Preamble.” She laughs, extends her legs, and leans back on her hands. “You know that son of mine is a workaholic? From morning to night, all he does is work.” She suddenly seems like she’s chatting with an old friend. “I moved in to help him out. He was going to hire someone to prepare meals, do laundry – that sort of thing – but I didn’t want some stranger in my son’s house. So I moved from my apartment in the city to help him take care of things around here.”
“That’s when you brought your painting with you.” I want to prove to her and myself that I’m listening.
“That’s right. My son really is a special person. I also know he cares about you a great deal.”
“What?” My heart nearly stops.
“I know I shouldn’t say anything, but you don’t have to be a psychic to see how much he cares.”
“Really? I mean, you can tell that?” I sit up straighter and place my hands over my heart, counting the beats that have suddenly begun to thrum under my fingers.
“Oh yes, I know he gives you the same care he would give his own sister. If he wasn’t an only child.”
Sister? Sister! I want to yell. If my life were a cartoon, this is where they would cue the “wah wah” blatting of the tuba. I feel so dumb. I wonder if she can see all the excitement draining from my face.
“Now, then, I think we’ve done enough chatting for now. We’d better get started with the lesson. She closes her eyes and begins to breathe deeply.
Does she seriously expect me find my happy place right now?
“Wait!” I insist. “Before we start, can you tell me anything else about the transplant? Like who the donor is or when I will have it?”
“So, you are a believer?” Jocelyn smiles. “I knew it.”
“I didn’t say that. But I will believe in almost anything until I’m given a reason not to, and right now I have no reason not to believe you. I mean, the way Scott speaks about you, I can tell that he believes in you and what you do.”
“He does believe in me and I hope that you will, too. So please, trust me when I tell you that you will be all right. That’s all I know right now.” Jocelyn crinkles her nose and lets out a hearty sneeze.
“Bless you,” I say, feeling tense.
“Now, if you would place your hands on your abdomen, right here.” She demonstrates. “This area here is one of the many chakras – or energy centers – in the body. There are seven main chakras, and you will learn about them all as we progress.”
My back suddenly becomes tense. I want to run out of the room and cry. While Jocelyn rambles on about chakras, all I can think about was the time Scott had laughingly told me his mother cannot tell a lie without sneezing.
***
On the ride home from Scott’s, Kate tries to get me to discuss the session. I tell her it was uneventful and describe Jocelyn as oddly sweet and kind of quirky, which is partly true. I conveniently leave out the part that she’s clairvoyant and predicted I’ll have a successful transplant. I don’t think I’ll ever tell her what Jocelyn said, unless of course it turns out to be true. I know my mother; if I tell her what Jocelyn said, she will think it is a cruel trick, and that I shouldn’t get my hopes up.
When I was younger and we’d go to the carnival, I always wanted to sit down with the lady in the red turban who rubbed the crystal ball, but Kate had always refused. “Those people are fake. I’d rather spend my money on a funnel cake!” she’d moan. Looking back, I think my mother was just afraid – afraid of what the women might say about my future. Or, even worse, not see any future for me at all.
That night, I watch all the late shows and finally drift off to sleep during an infomercial for a super turbo vegetable peeler. By morning, I’m groggy and completely unmotivated. This is exactly what I knew would happen if I were forced to stay home and ‘relax.’ I shuffle between my bedroom and living room for most of the day.
Late afternoon finds me lying on the couch. All my classes would have ended by now, and I would have walked through the door twenty minutes earlier, happy to be home, anxious to kick up my feet and relax, instead of wishing I had something to be tired from. The only thing I have done is shower and blowout my hair. My hair is long and, if I don’t blow it out straight after I shower, it has a tendency to frizz. With all things considered, frizzy hair is probably the least of my worries.
As I am reluctantly deciding to watch a courtroom reality show, the doorbell rings. I get up and press my body against the front door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Rob,” a scratchy voice answers. Rob Albright always sounds like he has a sore throat. I quickly bring my hand to my mouth and blow some air up to my nose. Rob and I are just friends, so probably the breath test is unnecessary.
I can understand why most girls flock to him like a moth to a flame. Rob has something my high school French teacher, Ms. Bordeaux, would refer to as “je ne sais quoi.” I have my own theory – some girls are just instinctively attracted to guys they perceive to be tough. Maybe it goes back to the Stone Age, when women only wanted the toughest guys to help ensure their own survival. In any case, I find that most of the so-called tough guys are that way out of necessity, which is certainly the case with Rob. After his father died, he and his mother could barely afford to make ends meet. Rob ended up in juvenile detention at fourteen, after he was caught stealing a video game from a local GameStop. After his mother died from a drug overdose, Rob would have been put into foster care if his Aunt Laurie hadn’t taken him in. Laurie is a successful attorney who lives with her girlfriend, Sarah, who is also an attorney, two floors above our apartment. “Living with two prosecutors is enough to get anyone to stick to the straight and narrow,” Rob often joked.
Even though we went to the same school, we didn’t become friends until after we got stuck in the elevator together. The power went out, trapping Rob, our neighbor Mr. Brewster, and me. It took about ten minutes for the elevator doors to open, which was enough time for Rob and me to become friends and for us both to realize that Mr. Brewster doesn’t handle a crisis very well. We couldn’t help but laugh when he started to remove his necktie and hyperventilate.
“What are you doing in there?” Rob yells through the door. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I unlock the latch. I have to admit, it’s kind of sweet how he worries about me. When I first told Rob about my heart condition, he was shocked. I guess I’m glad people can’t tell by looking at me that I’m sick.
“What took you so long?” He bounces through the front door, and I wish I could have just half of his energy.
“I’m sorry. I just—”
Rob waves his hand for me to stop talking. “No need to explain.” He smiles. “My aunts are having some colleagues over tonight, so I thought I’d chill here for a while, if that’s okay?” He pauses for an awkward second. “Maybe I should have called you first?”
“You don’t have to call. Do you want something to drink?”
“No. Thanks. Maybe in a few.” He plops down on the couch next to Scooter. Scooter gives a welcoming meow and rubs his head against Rob’s elbow.
“
What are you doing, you flea bag?” He scoops up Scooter and drapes him across his neck.
“You look like one of those guys from Vegas,” I say with a laugh.
“Didn’t one of those poor guys get mauled by their tiger?” he asks.
“What did they expect? You can’t expect to tame something that’s meant to be wild.”
“Have you been reading my diary?” Rob gives me a cute grin. “No one can tame us, right Scoots?” He brings Scooter up to his face and puckers his lips.
“You’re the guy everyone thinks is so tough?” I raise my brow and smirk.
“I like animals. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He grabs the remote control off the end table and begins flipping through the channels. “Do you care if I put the game on?”
“Be my guest.” It’s like we’re an old married couple, except we aren’t really a couple at all. My friend, Claire, thinks I’m crazy to not pursue a relationship with Rob. Actually, I think most of the girls at school have a hard time understanding how Rob and I can be just friends. I just shrug it off when anyone insinuates there’s more between us. I’d rather not explain how I’m waiting for the day when Scott Carmichael tells me he loves me.
“You know what?” Rob breaks eye contact with the TV for a second and looks at me.
“What?” I ask.
“I think I will have something to drink. Is there Gatorade in the fridge?”
“Yeah, my mom just bought some. I think we have orange.” I follow him into the kitchen. He reaches for a bottle from the fridge and drinks it all in one long gulp.
“Thirsty?” I say with a sarcastic lilt.
“I had a good workout at the gym after school today. I must have lost about two pounds of sweat on the treadmill.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.” I take a seat at the kitchen counter. “I haven’t been to the gym in, let’s see… never.” I smile at Rob. I have been banned from the gym since birth.
“Shit. I didn’t mean – maybe I shouldn’t have said…”
It’s cute how he’s afraid to say the wrong thing around me.
The Divine Heart Page 3
