“Farris? Oh child, is that you?” Ada peered through her round framed spectacles at Farris. She patted Beelah's hand.
Farris crouched in front of the wheelchair, flicking the end of her sheer green scarf around her neck. The wind had tried to unwind it on the way in.
“It's me. O'ma, what's wrong? I'm worried.” Farris glanced at Beelah, who returned a pat to Ada's hand. Gentle, caring.
Ada did what Farris called 'chewing' before she spoke. A peculiar motion of her jaw that reminded Farris of eating, except Ada didn't have any food in her mouth. It was just a tic of old age.
“What's the date, dear?” Ada asked in an agitated voice, sitting forward a few inches in her wheelchair.
Beelah made big, round eyes behind Ada's head at Farris. Like, should I restrain her?
Farris shook her head. A subtle gesture that wouldn't distract her grandmother.
“It's October twenty-eighth, O'ma.”
Ada sat back with an abrupt lurch. One wrinkled hand fluttered in the air. “Oh my, oh my heavens. Three days until your birthday, child. You can't leave the house that day, do you hear me, Farris? You must stay indoors, stay locked up tight.”
Beelah and Farris exchanged confused glances.
“Why, O'ma? Beelah and I are supposed to go out to celebrate.”
“No!” Ada stamped her foot against the wheelchair and scowled.
Farris recoiled. Beelah stared in shock. Neither one had ever heard Ada Landry raise her voice above a soft coo.
“I don't understand, grandma. Why don't you want me to go out on my birthday?” Farris tried to make heads or tails of the woman's angst. Ada forgot things on a regular basis, usually to do with recent events, rather than ones further back in history. As far as Farris knew, she wasn't prone to extreme paranoia or fits of hysteria.
Ada leaned forward again, making a point to stare at each of Farris' eyes. “I knew I was supposed to remember. Long before now. But my mind, Farris. My mind didn't want to remember, and now it's almost your birthday.”
“Remember what, O'ma?” Farris asked.
“The lady. From the park. Do you remember her, dear?”
Farris scoured her memory. She'd been to the park hundreds of times growing up. There had been many women she'd spoken to, mothers or aunts of the other little girls. Sometimes grandmothers.
“I don't know which lady you mean.”
“The one who spoke to you when you were six. Did your mother ever tell you about it?” Ada asked, an insistent tone in her voice. A paranoid tone, too.
Farris wondered if her grandmother was succumbing to dementia or something like it. “I don't remember any lady when I was six, and I don't know if mother ever told me or not.”
Nothing specific stood out.
“She had a very strange name.” Ada wrinkled her brow in thought. “Mer—something. Merwen! That's it. Her name was Merwen and she told you that you were special. That you should write your stories and save them all.”
Farris hadn't started her first story until she was eight.
Beelah looked puzzled and concerned.
“Maybe she was just being nice, O'ma.” Farris still wasn't convinced anything was truly wrong. The more she heard, the more she thought her grandmother was starting to slip away mentally. It made her sad, made her tired.
“No, child, listen to me!” Ada insisted. “Your mother overheard her. Didn't think anything of it until Merwen said that you would die on your eighteenth birthday, but that she'd be back for you and it would all be okay. See? You have to stay home, Farris. Stay home on your birthday.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Farris saw Beelah twitch with shock.
The news didn't shock her, however. All it did was cement the idea that her beloved grandmother was slipping away. Farris decided the best thing to do to ease Ada's mind was tell her what she wanted to hear. It felt like a grown up decision, one more thing distancing her from a life that had been far from usual or normal.
“Okay, O'ma. I won't go anywhere. Don't worry, all right? I'll be home safe and sound all day.” Farris patted her grandmother's hand. Ada peered at her like she suspected Farris was giving in too easy.
Finally, she sat back in her chair, looking older than her years. “Thank you, child. Now then, did you bring your O'ma some pie?”
. . .
“What do you think it is?” Farris asked.
The head nurse stood off to the side with both girls, arms full of charts. She had a sorrowful expression, whether or not she meant to.
“Farris—I think it's just her age. Last week she panicked because she misplaced her favorite pair of slippers. Before that, it was her reading glasses. We've all noticed little things the past few month or so, and this seems to fall in line with the rest.”
Farris, with Beelah at her side, listened intently to Nurse Hanson. It was as much as she expected. She nodded. “I thought it might be that. I'll make sure to call her on my birthday to help keep her calm.”
“That's an excellent idea. It'll be tricky if she panics, because she won't want you to come outside and drive here. I'll tell the other nurses, okay?” Nurse Hanson smiled and touched Farris' elbow.
“Thanks, Nurse Hanson. If anything changes, call me.” Farris and the nurse exchanged a final smile before the girls headed for the doors.
“That was a little creepy. I'm sorry Farris. I know it's hard for you,” Beelah said. She smacked the red button on the wall near the doors to get them to open. A safety precaution so the elderly didn't just wander out on their own.
Farris jammed her hands into the pocket of her coat, eyes on the ground.
“It is hard. I mean, what am I supposed to do for her? It's only going to get worse from here.”
“I don't think there is anything you can do but keep on visiting and calling. That means a lot to her. Hey, why don't I come over on Halloween instead of us going out? We can watch scary movies or something.” Beelah, with her Hello Kitty organizer tucked into the crook of her arm, nudged Farris.
A sharp, blustery wind met them head on when they got outside. Farris glanced at the sky. The gloomy cloud bank had covered the sun, turning the day gray. She smelled rain and ozone on the air. A storm was definitely brewing.
Beelah's offer made her smile despite everything else. Farris was grateful for her best friend. “Thanks, Bee. I know it'll stink having to stay inside on Halloween, but if it makes O'ma feel better, then I will.”
“Who's going to be at the Rocket anyway? Just the same crowd. Larissa, her little clingy friends, the same guys who always ignore us. We won't really be missing anything. Speaking of the Rocket, you still want to go?” Beelah sounded cautiously hopeful.
“Sure, yeah. It's closer, too. We won't make it home before this storm unleashes,” Farris predicted.
Sure enough, when she slid behind the wheel of the Chevy, the first raindrop fell.
Chapter Two
A total deluge engulfed Newcastle. The wind whipped through the treetops and distant thunder rattled the sky. Farris pulled up outside the Rocket and glanced at Beelah.
“Make a run for it?” Farris asked. She turned the engine off, pocketed the keys, and flipped the collar up on her coat.
“Let's go!” Beelah clutched her organizer under her arm and fled the truck.
Farris followed, jogging through puddles to the doors of the Rocket. The exterior, shiny and silver like an aluminum can, glinted when a flash of lightning streaked through the heavens. Farris ducked and flung the door open; Beelah squealed and darted through.
On her heels, Farris let the door close behind her and was immediately assaulted with the steady thump of music from the far corner of the building. The Rocket had a dance floor, too, through a broad archway. Booths in the shape of horseshoes lined the interior wall to their right and straight ahead, a long silver bar took up most of the space. Stools with red padding on the top sat haphazardly in a row, some occupied, some not. Silver grooves that resembled the floor of a t
rain had been painted over the concrete beneath their feet.
Red, blue and silver were the accent colors that matched the lighting shining down from strobes attached to the ceiling.
As usual, the Rocket was busy. The joint attracted teenage youth from Newcastle and even a couple other towns close by. Clusters of people huddled in booths, in corners, and near the long counter. Others had gravitated toward the back room and the dance floor where a glittering disco ball hung, spinning slowly.
What Farris noticed first beyond the familiar innards and crowd, was Larissa Miller's voice.
She groaned.
“Just ignore her,” Beelah said, overhearing the groan. “Let's go sit in the corner booth.”
“I'm right behind you.” Farris didn't seek Larissa Miller out. Didn't look her way. Ever since Palmer, Farris' ex boyfriend, had left her for Larissa, the tension had grown even thicker.
To make matters worse, Palmer was there, too, in all his golden-boy glory. Farris held her chin at a cocky angle, instead of hiding behind Beelah, but was privately relieved when they reached the booth without an incident or any comments from Larissa's cronies.
At least three girls and two more boys were standing there with them. There was a lot of hair flipping, coy laughter and jock jokes that elicited guffaws from the football players.
Beelah slid across the faux vinyl seat and clapped her organizer down on the table. After pushing her glasses up on her nose, she flicked the end of her auburn ponytail over her shoulder and got comfortable in the booth, indicating she was settling in for quite a stay.
Farris left two feet between them on the seat, so she could see Beelah's face without having to crane her neck to the side. She adjusted the sheer scarf around her throat but didn't take it off.
“So, is that guy here?” Farris asked, desperate for a distraction.
Beelah was already on the hunt, scouring tables and faces with her eyes.
“Rats. I don't see him. Maybe he's dancing.”
“Can't see the floor from here. Maybe he got stuck in the storm.” Farris draped her arms over the table. Although she wouldn't admit it to Beelah, she was preoccupied with the conversation they'd had with her grandmother. Who wouldn't be? It wasn't every day, Farris bet, that your grandmother told you that you might die on your birthday.
“...because the Crazy is here.” Larissa's voice drifted over the sound of the music.
Farris tried to ignore it. The Crazy was Larissa's 'affectionate' name for her. When Charlotte Landry had been hauled away and put into the asylum, Larissa hadn't wasted a second branding Farris with a nickname.
'Like mother, like daughter,' Larissa always crooned. 'The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'
There were a hundred old sayings. Larissa Miller knew them all.
Beelah turned a scowl toward Larissa and her band of friends. Larissa saw and sneered.
“Don't get them started, Bee. You know how it'll go. Let's just ignore them,” Farris said. She glanced at the bartender, dismayed to see he was another acquaintance of Larissa's. The owner hired the local youth to help support the community, which was all fine and dandy in Farris' eyes, except at times like this when it was more hindrance than help.
Outside, the storm raged. Thunder, closer now, boomed overhead and lightning flickered beyond the windows.
“I can't help it. She's always making comments, Farris,” Beelah said, frowning.
“Because she's trying to show off in front of her followers.”
Bee snickered. “Followers. That's about right.”
The door opened and a young man stepped in. Tall, pushing six-two at least, he wore a thigh length black coat, blue jeans and boots. His hair hung in lank strands down his forehead, dripping from the rain.
“Oh my gosh! Look, it's him, it's the guy!” Beelah sat up in her seat all of a sudden. She fidgeted with the edges of the organizer, grinning girlishly.
“That's the guy? Did you get his name?” Farris couldn't make too much out with all the clothes and people that kept getting in the way.
“No. He seemed nice, if edgy or something. Let's invite him over!” Beelah squirmed in her seat.
Farris scoffed under her breath. Beelah hadn't ever, as far as she knew, approached any guy on her own. She'd always asked Farris to make first contact, to do any inviting, and Farris was sure that's what Beelah had in mind now. No way was she going up to a total stranger with Larissa around.
It didn't matter what Farris would or would not have done anyway. Larissa and her group swaggered over to their table, haughty and arrogant. Farris refused to acknowledge them, didn't want to give Palmer, who had his arm draped over Larissa's shoulder, the satisfaction of staring.
Even though a year had gone by since her and Palmer's break up, Farris still took it hard. She'd really liked him, had begun to wonder if they might date even beyond high school. Palmer had been a transplant from another county in his sophomore year and didn't know about Farris' mother until Larissa got a hold of him.
Larissa made sure everyone knew Charlotte Landry had gone crazy.
“So, Farris. I heard through the grapevine that your grandma thinks something spooky is going to happen to you on your birthday,” Larissa said with a leering smirk.
Farris snapped her gaze to Larissa's. The girl looked immaculately made up, as always, blonde hair styled loose and wavy around her face. She could have easily graced the cover of any Teen magazine with her perfect nose and high cheekbones.
Ugh. Farris wanted to puke.
“What grapevine? The nurses wouldn't tell anyone else that.” Farris would march right back to the nursing home and demand answers if the nurses had talked.
“Callie's aunt was there visiting her aunt, and overheard. You should know nothing in this town stays secret very long, Farris. So tell us, what creepy things does she think will happen? Or is she losing her mind, like your mother did?” Larissa's smirk grew wider when several of her cronies broke into snickers.
Farris frowned.
“Shut up, Larissa,” Beelah said with an uncharacteristic snarl.
“She's old. Sometimes old people do that. What's it to you, anyway?” Farris felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Her skin prickled with ire. Things never changed with Larissa. Although Palmer stood right next to her, Farris refused to make eye contact with him.
“You, stay in your little nerd corner,” Larissa said, pointing rudely at Beelah.
Farris acted on impulse; she knocked the pointing finger out of the way with the back of her hand. “Get lost, Larissa. No one wants you here. Least of all me.”
Larissa gasped, drawing her hand back as if Farris had hit her, instead of knocked her hand away.
“I hope something awful does happen to you on your birthday, Farris. You deserve every nasty thing that comes your way.”
“Whatever. Take your snark somewhere else. No one cares.” Farris glared Larissa down, daring her to escalate the situation. If she was forced to defend herself, she would. Neither a socialite or an outcast, Farris considered herself somewhere in the middle. She could be drawn in by the right person, but didn't go out of her way to meet people. Not these days, not after what happened with her mother.
When push came to shove, though, Farris had learned the hard way to stick up for herself.
“The Crazy has spoken,” Larissa said in a scary voice, wiggling her fingers like Farris was spooky. Larissa's crowd broke into fresh snickers.
“Hey, are you all deaf, or didn't you hear her tell you to get lost?” The strange, masculine voice interrupted all the sneers and jeers. Collectively, the group turned around.
Farris and Beelah stopped glaring at Larissa and glanced past to see who'd spoken. It was the guy, the same one Beelah had pointed out a few minutes before Larissa started harassing them. He had bright, blue-green eyes, the most handsome face Farris had ever seen, and a hard stare that he leveled on each of Larissa's companions. She heard Beelah suck in a breath.
; No wonder the girl had wanted to show up tonight to see if he'd be here.
“Dude, this is none of your business--” Palmer got cut off.
“I'm making it my business. You want to take it outside? Little rain won't hurt you.” The stranger thumbed toward the door of the establishment. He had an edgy, confident air about him that made a person think he could finish what he started.
With ease.
Suddenly, all anyone heard was the rain outside and the sounds of the storm. Even the music from the dance floor seemed muted in the face of the showdown.
Palmer must have known when he was at a disadvantage. The stranger was taller, broader across the shoulders, and had an almost eerie intensity that made even the other guys in the group fidget and look uncomfortable. Palmer snorted and guided Larissa away. Their cronies followed, giving the stranger looks of disgust.
“That's what I thought,” the stranger said to Palmer's back, rubbing in his mild victory. He glanced at Beelah, then at Farris, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his thigh length overcoat.
“Oh my gosh. Wow! Hey, it's good to see you here. Sit down, sit down.” Beelah went from scowling to gushing in a heartbeat.
“Thanks. I never got your name last night.” The stranger helped himself to the booth. This put him right across from Farris and at an angle to Beelah, who sat between them.
“I'm Bee Bosley and this is Farris Landry. We both work at the diner.” Beelah stuck her hand out across the table, apparently expecting an enthusiastic shake.
Farris, still annoyed by the confrontation, shifted in her seat and nodded across to the guy. “Hey.”
“Emerson. Hey. Nice to meet you both.” He slid his hand into Beelah's and shook twice. Then he offered it across the table to Farris.
Farris stared at it, then his eyes again. It was almost like he knew she hadn't meant to offer her own hand and was testing her anyway. Leaning forward, she clasped his and shook. Three good pumps before letting go.
The Fate of Destiny (Fates #1) Page 2
