The Mystic

by Maggie Santangelo

  Ellie says, “Raina, this is Lovie. She owns the café and shop. She’s my boss.” My cousin smiles.

  Lovie extends her hand to me. “Nice to meet you, dear.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “You, too.”

  “Her son, Ben, is working downstairs right now,” Ellie says.

  I recall Ben’s face. He looked to be about my mom’s age, but Lovie looks older than my grandfather. She’s kind of hunched over and moves slowly. Her dark skin doesn’t show a lot of wrinkles on her face, but her hands look very old. She says, “Are you settling in to your new home ok, dear?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we just got in yesterday. I mean, my mom and me…”

  “Yes, I understand,” she nods. “I knew your grandfather way back when, before he and your grandmother bought the house on Magazine Street.”

  “I guess you know my grandmother passed away a long time ago.”

  “Yes, what a shame.” She looks off toward the window. I think she might say something else, but she just shakes her head and then looks back at me.

  “So you knew her?”

  “Not well,” she says. “Ben and I live a little ways from here. You’re welcome to stop by anytime.”

  “Thank you.” I’m not sure why I’d want to visit her and Ben, and it’s kind of weird that he still lives with his mom. Then I remember that my mom just moved in with her dad, and maybe it’s not so weird. Things happen that are out of our control and we need family to lean on. I’m starting to understand that better now.

  “Hey, I thought I heard you in here.” A guy walks through a door to our left. I hadn’t realized there was a doorway there, so he startles me a bit. He gives me a funny look and walks past me to greet Ellie with a hug and kiss.

  “Raina, this is my boyfriend, Andre.” They make a cute couple. The smile on her face shows that she’s in love.

  “Hi,” I say, feeling a bit out of place. I’ve met so many new people in the past few days, I’d give anything to see a familiar face.

  “Come see the shop,” Ellie says.

  Glass shelves line opposite sides of the shop to my left and right. They are filled with vases, candlesticks, lamps, books, and dishes that look too delicate to use. The front door is opposite of where I stand. To my right I see him, standing behind the counter with something in his hands. It looks like he’s fixing a clock.

  He catches my eye and I can’t stop staring back. Ellie finally breaks the silence. “Raina, this is Johnny. He works here too.”

  I find myself walking toward him and extending my hand but he pulls back and says, “You don’t want to shake my hand right now, I have grease on it.”

  Please don’t say anything stupid. “Ok,” I say, and I’m happy to keep it at that. I look at the things on the shelf behind him and back at Ellie and Andre, who are in a quiet conversation.

  “We have all kinds of old things here, look around,” Johnny says. He has light-brown hair and dark eyes. He’s taller than me, and since I stand at 5’9”, it’s nice to see a guy who’s taller. He goes back to work on his clock, but as I browse the counter I notice him glancing back at me.

  I see a stained glass church on the shelf behind Johnny. It’s all different colors of glass and it’s lit from within. “You like the church?” he says.

  “Yes, it’s colorful,” I say.

  He wipes off his hands with a rag and carefully picks up the little church and carries it to the counter. “It’s about a hundred years old. Someone made it with scraps of stained glass.”

  “Oh,” I say. The glass is shimmery and the light makes it shine. It has a little cross on top of the steeple.

  “It’s held together with lead. Whoever did it was a decent craftsman, but maybe this was just a hobby,” he says.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “If you look carefully, you can see where the lead gets thicker in some places. It’s not even.”

  “I barely notice,” I say. I examine the craftsmanship as if I know anything about it.

  “It’s nice though. This little light was added more recently.” He turns it upside down to expose the night-light inside and the electric cord.

  “Pretty!” Ellie says. I didn’t hear her walk up behind me. “Do you like it, Raina?”

  “Yes, of course,” I say. Johnny has set it back upright on the glass-top counter.

  I feel obligated to ask about the price, even though I have no money. “How much?”

  “That’s 150 dollars,” Andre says.

  “What?” Ellie says. “No way, she’s my cousin.”

  “Then 75 dollars,” Johnny says. I look at him; he has a grin on his face that makes me wonder what he’s thinking. It doesn’t matter, I have no intention of buying it.

  “That’s ok,” I say, trying to back out of the deal. “It’s pretty, but maybe another time.”

  Andre says, “Yeah, give the girl a break, Johnny.” He has a taunting tone in his voice—I just can’t tell if it’s directed at Johnny or me.

  “It’s fine.” Johnny places the church back on the shelf. “There’s a home for every piece in here. This is just waiting for the right one.”

  I pull my attention away from him and browse around at the other antiques in the store. Johnny goes back to work on the clock repair and Ellie follows me. I don’t know where Andre is, but I already feel like I don’t like him. Or maybe it’s he who doesn’t like me.

  “So, where does all this stuff come from?” I say to Ellie.

  “Lovie goes out looking on the weekends, but people bring some things in to sell them, too.”

  “Oh, cool.” The mention of Lovie has me looking back toward the doorway to see if she followed us into the shop. I don’t see her. I do notice that Andre has left. I wonder where he’s gone.

  Someone walks in the front door and a little bell attached to the door rings. “Hello,” I hear Johnny say from behind me. I keep from turning around and looking at Johnny, so my eyes go from the lady who just walked in and then back to what I was looking at. What was I looking at? Nothing important, I guess. I’ve only been able to think of one thing since I walked in this shop.

  The lady is asking Johnny for a specific type of china pattern. I hear Andre answer her, “We have some of those plates over here.” He just walked through the adjoining doorway to Lovie’s office.

  “Well, we should let the guys get back to work,” Ellie says.

  “Ok,” I say. I’d like to hang around and find a reason to talk to Johnny again, but I don’t want to be in the way. And antiques don’t really interest me.

  “Bye,” she says to Johnny. She gives Andre a wave and I see him blow her a kiss. I feel like I’m intruding on their private moment, so I just walk out the door.

  It’s only when I’m outside that I realize that while getting away from being in the middle of Ellie and her boyfriend, I didn’t say goodbye to Johnny. I hope I get the chance to see him again, but I don’t ask Ellie about it. I’ve always been guarded when it comes to guys. I may be young, but I’m old enough to know what a broken heart feels like.

  ***

  I finally get a text from Mom. She’s home with Grandpa. I want to see her, but I’m mad at her too. I can’t believe she left like that on our first night here. She would never have done anything like that before; I guess I’m not the only one who’s changed already. Although, she said she was out with “old friends,” so maybe this is the real her, and I didn’t really know her like I thought I did.

  I decide to go with Ellie on a walk through the Quarter instead of going right home to see Mom. It feels good to get out of the house and I’m having fun with Ellie. Everyone we walk past is smiling or laughing and it’s contagious; I feel myself smiling and it makes me feel better.

  Ellie snaps me out of my thoughts when I hear her say, “There are a lot of neat little shops down here. I just love window shopping. And we can get beignets and coffee at Café du Monde. Even though I feel a little guilty getting my sweets from somewhere other than our c
afé, this place is famous. You just have to try it.”

  We reach Café du Monde and I see water nearby. “Is that the Mississippi River?”

  “Yes it is.”

  I want to go straight to the river, but the smell coming from the café is too hard to resist. We stand in a cafeteria-type line and order. We each have a tray and I follow Ellie outside. It’s a covered patio that’s packed with people. We walk through the tables like we’re going through a maze, and have to hold our trays up to keep from bumping into anyone who’s already seated. We make it to a table and sit down.

  “This coffee is made from chicory; it was made that way during World War II because it was cheaper, but I guess New Orleanians liked it this way, so it stuck. It’s really popular here.”

  I spoon out a few ice cubes from my water glass and put them in my coffee, Ellie gives me a funny look but doesn’t say anything. I take a sip. “Oh my God, it’s strong!”

  She laughs, “Yep, and so are we. And now you are, too.”

  “It’s funny that we just met and yet I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.”

  “Family is like that, I guess.”

  I pick up my beignet, which is covered in a mountain of powdered sugar. “How am I supposed to eat this and not leave here covered in sugar?”

  “Impossible,” she says. She picks up one of hers and takes a bite; sugar falls to the plate.

  I follow her lead and take a bite, trying not to worry about making a mess of myself.

  “This is delicious,” I say. I don’t bother trying to dust myself off in between bites.

  “I know, right?” Ellie says. Each plate came with three beignets on it, and she’s already on her second one.

  “How do you stay so thin eating like this?”

  “Thanks, but I can’t eat this every day. It’s a nice treat, though.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  After we’re done and as cleaned up as possible, we walk out to the river. I look out on the Mississippi in awe to actually be here. I know this river from so many stories, it feels like it should be larger than it is. There’s a riverboat docked and people are getting on board. The tourists’ excitement travels through the thick air. I feel my father’s presence with me and I feel so content in the moment.

  “One day we’ll have to go on a cruise up the river,” Ellie says.

  “I’d like that.” I turn and put my back to the water and I see a big church. “What’s the name of that church?”

  “That’s St. Louis Cathedral. It’s the oldest cathedral in North America.”

  “Wow, really? Can anyone go in?”

  “Of course. Churches tend to have an open door policy, you know.”

  “No, not really. My dad took me to Mass the few times we went to Nebraska to visit his parents, but Mom never took me.”

  “That’s funny; your mom and my dad grew up going to church every Sunday.”

  “She never talked about anything that happened when she was growing up. I tried asking questions when I was younger, but she never answered them. So I gave up asking.”

  We start walking across the cobblestones and toward the church. We stop at the life-size statue of a man on a horse. He’s holding a sword in the air. The plaque says it’s Andrew Jackson. We walk around it and continue toward the church. I say, “Is this the one they went to when they were kids?”

  “No, they went to St. Dominic’s. That’s also where my parents were married and where we went.”

  “Oh,” I say. I’ve missed out on so much.

  “We used to go every Sunday, but after I had my confirmation we stopped going so much. It’s been a couple of years since we went.”

  “What’s a confirmation?”

  “Something you have to take a lot of boring classes to get.”

  We get to the door and she walks over to the bowl-like thing that holds the holy water, dips her finger in and makes the sign of the cross. I do the same.

  The inside of the cathedral is incredibly ornate, even more so than it appears it would be from the outside. The stained glass windows are breathtaking. While I’m looking around trying to take everything in, I run into Ellie’s back. She turns to look at me and then motions toward a pew, she wants to sit down. She bends one knee and makes the sign of the cross again, and once again I do the same as her. My father had a name for what she just did, what was it… oh, genuflect. She sits at the edge of the pew bench and crosses herself again before leaning her forearms against the back of the pew in front of us and folds her hands to pray. All this crossing seems a bit much; I mean, does God really care about it that much? Doesn’t matter. I do as my cousin does; after all, she’s the experienced one.

  So now I’m here, all set to pray, and I don’t know what to say. I’m mad at you, God. But I suppose you know that, right? I mean, you’re all-knowing and all. I don’t even know if I believe in you anymore, except that I’m scared not to. Why my dad? Why him? If you don’t love me enough to keep my family whole, then why should I love you? No answers. I knew it. You don’t really talk to people, and anyone who says you do is lying. Or they’re crazy and are just hearing voices.

  I give a sideways glance to Ellie to see if she’s done and I can end this now. She’s done and sitting back already. I push back and wonder if I should have crossed myself again. No, forget it . . . I cross myself anyway, just to be safe.

  I wonder how long we’re supposed to sit here, and then I remember that I’m the one who asked to come. I get up and once I’m out of the pew I look back to see if Ellie is leaving too; she is. On our way out I notice a woman coming out from behind a curtain. I’ve seen that in movies. She’s giving her confession, so there must be a priest behind the curtain next to the one she just vacated. Maybe he could answer my questions. The woman looks over at me with a frown; I feel like know something about her that I shouldn’t. I look ahead and focus on walking out the door.

  Once outside, I take a deep breath and the river air fills my lungs. The riverboat has left the dock with its passengers, all of who I’m sure are having a grand time and are oblivious to my problems. Instead of feeling insignificant by the knowledge that life and tourism goes on with or without me and my sorrow, I feel relieved. Maybe hiding behind a mask is not such a terrible thing.

  “So, have you gotten your fill of the French Quarter today?”

  “Yes. I’m ready to go if you are.”

  “I’m ready.”

  On our walk back to Ellie’s car, I ask to stop inside one of the shops. I buy myself a mask.

  ***

  I walk into my new home and the aroma of cooking food makes me hungry. It doesn’t smell like anything Mom has ever made. She usually sticks to appetizers and finger foods that don’t have to be cooked. I wonder if Grandpa cooks; nah, that might not be such a good idea. I turn the corner to see his seat empty. He’s not in the kitchen, either. At first glance I think it’s Aunt Brooke cooking, but this woman has dark hair. She sees me and says with a smile, “Hello, Raina.”

  “Hello again, Ms. Mona.” I’m glad to see her. I look around to see if Zac is here too.

  “Now, I told you I come in to help your grandpa with the cooking, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh, sweetie, you don’t have to call me ma’am.”

  “Ok, Ms. Mona, then?”

  “That’s better. Your aunt brings the food over and I just cook up a mess of it and leave it in containers in the fridge for him. I’ll leave enough for you, too, and your mom, if you like my cooking.” She turns her attention back to the skillet on the stovetop. She has a sweet smile; I’m glad she’s here.

  “Thank you, I’m sure I will. It smells really good,” I say. “Where’s my grandpa? And do you know if my mom is home?”

  “He’s over there sleeping on the sofa. And yes, your mother’s home, she’s in her room.” She scoops out the contents of the skillet onto a plate and fills the skillet with frozen vegetables. They sizzle when she drops them in.


  “Good, I need to talk to her,” I say.

  “Ok, then, I’ll be finished up here soon. Everything will be in these here containers. Help yourself when you’re hungry. I made plenty.”

  “Thanks, I can’t wait to try it.” The smell of onions and mushroom cooking, mixed with the fried chicken she just made, is hard to leave. I have to pull myself away.

  I check on Grandpa. He’s snoring, but it’s so low that I can barely hear it. I can’t help but smile.

  I knock, but no answer. I turn the handle slowly. “Mom?” I say in a whisper. She’s in bed underneath a pile of blankets. I close the door behind me and sit on the end of her bed. The blankets smell like our linen closet back home. Memories of that house, and my dad, come flooding back. I push those thoughts away and lay next to Mom. I take a deep breath and release the anger I had for her. She rolls over and hugs me.

  “Is everything going to be ok?” I ask.

  “Always,” she says, still holding onto me.

  “But things are really different here, and I don’t even know Grandpa. You can’t leave me with him like that again.”

  “He’s not scary, Raina, he’s my dad.” She begins to pull away.

  “No, I’m not scared of him; but maybe I should be. I mean, I don’t know why you kept him from me.”

  “Not this again,” she says with a sigh. “We just need to move forward, and we’re not going to do that until we accept our situation.” And by “we” she means “me,” because she seems to be moving forward just fine.

  “Ok, I’m just saying that it’s hard, and I want you here with me and Grandpa. Like a family.”

  She rolls over and puts her back to me and pulls the covers up to her face. “I’m tired, sweetie. Too much has happened. I need some time to myself, ok?”

  “Fine, be in here alone,” I say, and leave the room. I’m tempted to slam her door but I want to be mature so I close it with the same care as when I entered.

  Back in the dining room, Grandpa is awake and at the table, eating with one hand and holding the paper with the other. I wonder if there’s really that much in the paper to read or if he’s just staring at it. “Hi, Grandpa,” I say.