by Janet Dailey
“But she said things. Things that have come true. You will draw blood. You will be crushed—”
Grant touched the spot on her chest again. “Well, if this is the blood—it’s not too scary, is it? Nothing to worry about. And if you need a transfusion, lovely lady, I’m right here.” Grant rolled up his sleeve and winked.
“There was more. She said—my heart would be ripped out of my chest. And my locket—my heart-shaped locket, the first necklace I ever made, with petals from the rose you gave me—was just ripped off back there!”
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”
“It’s not. She said—if we get back together—I’ll cause the death of someone.”
“Oh, Rebecca. She really got to you, didn’t she?” He squeezed her hands tighter. “Listen to me. That woman doesn’t have power over life and death and neither do we. You are not cursed. And no offense, but I just found out I have a son. I want to know everything about him. Okay?”
“Okay,” Rebecca said. “But be warned. There’s nothing I love talking about more than Miles.”
“And there’s nothing I’d rather hear about.”
So, beginning with his birth, Rebecca began to talk. As the stories poured out of her, the moon revealed more and more of itself, until it was a fat, shiny globe against the black sky. And then, somehow, as she talked, the sky began to lighten, and the moon faded to a pale yellow, then just a whisper of white as the sky around it brightened. Neither of them knew how it was possible, but they had been talking about Miles the entire night. By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, Rebecca’s voice was hoarse, and they were both exhausted. Grant put his arm around her, then dropped his head.
“You’ve had to do it all alone,” he said. “You had to sell your house. I’m the father. I should have been providing all these years.”
Guilt thumped through Rebecca. “It’s my fault,” she said. “It’s all my fault.”
Grant put his hands on her shoulders. “Listen to me very carefully,” he said. “The past is the past. I don’t blame you. I will grieve the years I’ve lost, but I will never blame you. And more than that, I will rejoice in what I’ve been given. A second chance with you. A son. Nothing else in this world matters. We’re blessed, Rebecca. We’re thrice blessed.”
Rebecca moved out of Mae Lin’s apartment the following morning. It was easy to do when you were living out of a suitcase. She wasn’t so much moving out as “fleeing the scene.” Rebecca correctly suspected that Mae Lin would be nursing the mother of all Mardi Gras hangovers, and no good-byes would be necessary. They had never become true friends, so Rebecca didn’t see the point in talking through her feelings of betrayal. And in a way, she was grateful. Grant knew the truth, and he’d not only taken it remarkably well, he was excited about having a son. Now all she had to do was tell Miles. And the only way to do that was face-to-face.
So Rebecca did the only thing she could at the last minute: she moved into her jewelry shop. Grant wanted her to stay with him at the club, but understood when Rebecca said she wanted to take things slow, do it right this time. There was just enough room behind the counter to roll out a sleeping bag or some such. She would close the shop early today and buy one. Then she’d start the process of looking for a place to stay all over again. If she didn’t find a place in a few days, she’d stay at a hotel. She kind of liked the idea of nesting for a few nights in her little shop, and she just wanted some peace and quiet where she could relish every moment of that night with Grant.
Rebecca laughed to herself as she unrolled her new sleeping bag and took the plastic off her new giant pillow. This was living; this was an adventure. She even had a small reading lamp and a paperback thriller. The best part of the evening was when Miles called and told her he booked a ticket; he would be here in three weeks.
Three weeks. She couldn’t wait to tell Grant. She was so excited she couldn’t fall asleep, and the paperback couldn’t hold a candle to her real life. What a change. And for some reason, she couldn’t get the high priestess out of her mind. She saw her face every time she closed her eyes. And then, something else took shape. A necklace. Rebecca often created pieces from dreams. But this wasn’t a dream—she was awake. And she saw a necklace that she knew was meant for the priestess. It was a fragile gold chain made with a live rose. It would have to be encased in something, preserved forever. Like her locket? No, the rose had to be visible. Somehow she knew this was what she had to do. A peace offering. Would this be enough to cure the curse? It didn’t matter; she would do it regardless. Once the decision was made, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
The necklace came together perfectly. It was as if she was guided, as if it was meant to be. She found a beautiful crystal and cut a small hole in the top. Then she crushed several rose petals into tiny specks of blushing dust and poured them into the crystal. Finally she sealed the hole so the petals couldn’t escape. It looked like a miniature snow globe raining tiny shards of rose petals. She added some liquid that kept the tiny petals floating in the crystal. It was one of the most beautiful and unique pieces Rebecca had ever made, and even though she suspected she could make a fortune by making more and selling them en masse, she wasn’t going to do it. This one was meant only for the priestess. Rebecca was actually looking forward to giving it to her. Was it Grant making her feel this open and loving?
She was in love; that was the secret to everything. Mankind had certainly advanced on every front since crawling out of the sea, but love was still the same primitive force it had always been.
Grant was at her shop the first thing in the morning with powdery doughnuts and coffee. They couldn’t stop looking into each other’s eyes, and laughing, and gently touching each other wherever and whenever they could. Rebecca loved the expression on Grant’s face when she told him that Miles was coming to visit. He picked her up and swung her around the shop. Then, because she was still so full of Miles, she showed him the beautiful card he’d given her for her birthday, the little street scene of the French Quarter. Grant read it, then looked quizzical.
“Are you sure he doesn’t know about me?”
“Why would you say that?”
“I assume you read this,” he said.
“ ‘I hope you find everything you’re looking for,’ ” Rebecca said from memory.
Grant handed her the card. “Look closer.”
Rebecca read it, then gasped. “ ‘I hope you find everyone you’re looking for.’ ” She looked at Grant. “I swear—I thought it said everything.”
“What do you think now?”
“My mother,” Rebecca said softly. “It has to be. She’s always felt bad. She must have said something to him. She must have. And still—he never pressured me. He’s gentle and protective. Like you.”
Grant smiled. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that. Is it strange that I’m already proud? I mean, I know I have no right—”
“You have every right,” Rebecca said. She kissed him. “You have every right.”
“Three weeks,” Grant said. “I guess we’ll find out then.”
Soon they were in each other’s arms. She loved smelling his cologne, feeling his heartbeat against her, having his strong arms around her. She felt safe. She felt like she was home. It wasn’t long before their soft caresses turned into passion. Then they were all over each other. Lips, hands, bodies, and voices united in soft little moans, as together they fell to the sleeping bag.
Rebecca wondered, very briefly, if they would ever make love in normal places. She couldn’t care less. He was undressing her too slowly. She urged him to hurry. He laughed, and then gently pinned her hands above her head to show her he was in control, and he was going to take his time. By the time they were in the space where it was just his skin against hers, he entered her and they found their own rhythm as the city began waking up around them. Magic. It was magic. Afterward, they lay for a long time, just wrapped in each other, just being.
Every step
of the way, Rebecca expected something bad to happen. A potted plant to fall on her head. The sky to open up and thunder down. The little box with the red bow to be swiped out of her hands.
When none of the above happened, and she was standing outside the Voodoo Shop, Rebecca then feared that the shop would be closed, or the old woman would be gone, or she would refuse to see her. But the doors were wide-open, just like every other time she’d been there. Rebecca stepped inside.
And there, sitting in a rocking chair in the main room, was the high priestess. She was staring at the door as if waiting for someone, perhaps Rebecca, to walk in.
“You,” the high priestess said in a tone that made Rebecca want to turn and flee.
Rebecca took a breath and forced a smile. Then she stepped forward and held out the box.
The priestess stopped rocking. “What is it?” She sounded alarmed.
“A gift,” Rebecca said. “For you.” Without taking her eyes off the box, the old woman reached out with a trembling hand and petted the top of the box with her fingertips. When she looked up at Rebecca, she had tears in her eyes. Rebecca was so startled she almost dropped the box. And then a wave of shame crashed over her. The high priestess wasn’t some kind of witch. She was a lonely old woman. Rebecca bridged the distance between them and knelt down by the rocking chair.
“It’s one of a kind,” Rebecca said. “Just like you.”
With the smile of a child, the priestess took the box in both her hands and held it like a precious baby bird while she stared at it. Then she tore into it with surprising speed, held up the necklace, and gasped upon seeing the crystal with the rose petals. She watched the petals dancing inside. Slowly, she looked at Rebecca.
“It’s my anniversary,” she said. “How did you know?”
“Your anniversary?”
“My lover. We met this very day. Sixty years ago. He called me his Rose.” She clutched the necklace to her chest. “My darling,” she said. “My darling, you remembered.”
Rebecca gently took the necklace and placed it around the old woman’s neck. The high priestess reached out and took her hand. She squeezed it so hard Rebecca knew she’d have marks, but she didn’t cry out or pull away. It was as if the woman were holding on for dear life.
“True love lives beyond the grave,” the priestess said. “It really and truly does. I’m not alone. I’ve never been alone.” Then she began to chant in a language Rebecca couldn’t understand, all the while touching the crystal and rocking faster and faster. Rebecca pulled her hand away and stepped back. Was she having some sort of breakdown? Then just as quickly, the rocking eased up, the chanting stopped, and the high priestess began to quietly hum.
“Go, my child,” she said to Rebecca. “You are free.”
You are free. It was good news. It was the best news. So then what was this feeling of dread following Rebecca out of the shop? Why did she feel a hundred pounds heavier? The high priestess loved the necklace. She set Rebecca free. The curse had been lifted. Hadn’t it? She was with Grant, Miles was on his way, and she certainly hadn’t caused the death of anyone. Maybe it wasn’t the old woman who’d been keeping Rebecca under a curse. Maybe Rebecca was the one who was cursing herself. She’d been keeping herself a prisoner all these years. A prisoner of her fears, a prisoner of her never-ending guilt. It was over. It was time to shed it all, and live a life without secrets. And that’s exactly what she was going to do, starting now. She took out her phone and dialed the number she knew by heart. And although she’d planned on doing this face-to-face, the minute she heard her son’s voice, she knew she had to tell him. It was now, or never.
“Miles,” she said. “I have something to tell you.”
Chapter Fifteen
It was one of the best moments of her life. Watching Miles and Grant on stage together, dual trumpets blaring, playing to each other, bouncing off each other. The father-and-son team had been packing the club every week for the past three months. Soon Miles would be returning to college, and they would have to wait until winter break to play together again. Rebecca watched them, front and center, gripping a tissue in her hands, blubbering through the entire performance like always.
Miles and Grant were alike in so many ways. They even held the trumpet with the exact same stance, fingers moving in unison, elbows relaxed, feet splayed the same distance apart. Like father like son. It was still astonishing to Rebecca that they’d only known each other for six months. All these years Miles knew his father was alive, but he hadn’t pressed her for details. His grandmother, knowing that the lies were torturing her daughter, had explained all she knew to Miles when he was old enough to hear it. And he never even let on. Keeping secrets must be a family trait. He secretly hoped she would find his father in New Orleans, and here they were. It was unbelievable how much life could change. Besides her son and Grant being reunited, and the fact that she and Grant were so in love—as if that weren’t enough—ever since Rebecca gave that necklace to the high priestess, business had been booming.
Girls were coming out of the woodwork to buy her pieces, and then they brought their friends. One girl said she met the love of her life shortly after buying a necklace. Whether or not the two events were related, rumors began to spread. Everything in New Orleans was coated with a bit of voodoo, so Rebecca didn’t give it a second thought. If anyone asked her if it was true that her pieces could draw in true love, Rebecca would just smile and say, It’s been said.
Money will flow in faster than you can catch it . . . She tried not to let it get to her—that this, too, had been one of the priestess’s predictions. She was doing so well at the shop, and Grant was doing so well at the club, that they had started looking at buying a house together. It was perfect timing; the small hotel where Rebecca had been staying was quaint, but she was ready for something more. She was ready to give her heart.
You will cause the death of someone else. Despite how well her life was going, this prediction began to haunt her. Things absolutely could not be any better than they were right now, and she still couldn’t be happy. You will cause the death of someone else. Absolutely everything else had come true, so how could she ignore it?
Had the curse been lifted? Was she safe? Was Miles? Grant? She had to know. She had to pay the high priestess one last visit and ask her straight out. Rebecca waited until the last customer was out of the shop, then she hurried down the street. A light rain started to fall as she ran, and by the time she reached the Voodoo Shop she was drenched; her hair was plastered to her face, her thin dress clung to her body. This time, the door was closed. Rebecca stood in front of it for a few seconds, and then pushed on it. It opened.
The shop was empty. As if it never existed.
“Hello?” She took a few steps inside. The second room was empty, too, except for a young woman who appeared to be cleaning the shelves.
“What happened?” Rebecca said. The woman turned with a start. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I came to see the high priestess.”
“She passed away a few weeks ago,” the woman said.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Rebecca said. “And the daughter didn’t want to keep the shop open?” Rebecca hated thinking it, but now that she looked at it, this space would be the perfect place to move her jewelry store. The little shop she had now wasn’t big enough with all the traffic she was getting.
“She said it was never her dream,” the woman said. “She went West.”
“Good for her.”
“Were you a friend of the priestess?” the girl asked.
“I have a jewelry shop in town,” Rebecca said. “I made her a necklace.”
The girl gasped, then reached into her pocket. “This necklace?” she asked.
Rebecca was surprised to see it. For some reason, she thought the priestess would have wanted to be buried with it. “Yes,” she said.
“She died the day she got this,” the girl said.
At first Rebecca was convinced she hadn’t heard
her correctly. “No,” she said. “Are you sure?”
“Doctor ruled it old age, of course, but her daughter blamed you.” She held up the necklace, and they watched the rose petals dance.
“Me?” Rebecca said. “Why me?”
“It reminded her of her true love,” the woman said. “He used to call her Rose. Then you gave this to her on their anniversary. She said he was coming for her, that true love lasted beyond the grave. And then, just like that, she was gone.” The girl snapped her fingers. “Her daughter said she died of a broken heart, but I think it’s the opposite. I think she died because after all these years of being miserable, her heart was finally full. She just couldn’t take being so happy.” The girl gave a shy smile. “Or maybe he was sending her a message. Maybe he was calling to her. And off she went.” Silence descended on the little shop. “Here,” the girl said, holding out the necklace. “You should have it back.” And then, before Rebecca could protest, the girl placed the necklace in Rebecca’s palm and closed her fingers over it. “She would want you to have it,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”
The three of them stood, arms linked, and gazed down at the grave of the high priestess. Miles had already joked about being conceived here, and although Grant and Rebecca were too mature to point out exactly where the conception had taken place, they did share a little grin and hand squeeze when they walked past the statue of the maiden with the outstretched hands. She was faded, and overgrown with moss, but she was still there, still reaching out for her unseen lover. Rebecca laid the necklace on top of the priestess’s headstone. Miles lifted his trumpet and softly played “Amazing Grace.”
True love. The road certainly hadn’t been smooth, or straight, and somehow it had brought them full circle, to this cemetery, these sacred grounds where it all began. And then, as they turned from the grave, Grant put his arm around Miles and Rebecca and announced that he was taking his two favorite people to the “best restaurant in town.”
