Reckoning

by Molly M. Hall

  “I’ve never really thought about it,” he says, “but I can see what you mean. Maybe that’s why I like it here at night. But for something really cool, you should see it at dawn. It’s amazing then.”

  I look at him in surprise. “You’ve been up here at dawn?”

  “My dad and me came up last summer. We were going to hike one of the trails on Mount Zion and we headed out really early so we could beat any afternoon thunderstorms. The sun was just coming up when we drove by here. It was incredible. The entire horizon was orange and yellow and the sky was this purple color. And it was still just dark enough so you could see all the lights. You seriously have to see it sometime.”

  “I’d like that. I love sunrises.”

  “I know.”

  I smile, pleased he remembered. Then, for some odd reason, I wonder how many other girls he’s brought here, showing them the same view. I quickly push the thought aside, not liking the images that accompany it. And besides, it’s really none of my business.

  “I like to come up here once in a while, just to get away,” he says. “It’s a nice place to just sit quietly.” He wraps his arms around my waist and I lean back against his chest. “And I thought you might like it.”

  “I do,” I say, my heart racing. “Thanks for sharing it with me.”

  “Sure.” His warm breath stirs the hair beside my face. “I had a good time tonight.”

  “Me, too.”

  “But, you know…I’ve been keeping a pretty close eye on the streetlights.”

  I tense, turning to look at him warily, then relax when I see the grin on his face. “No doubt,” I say, pretending to join in the teasing. “You never know what might happen next with me around.” Although I say it lightly, my stomach clenches. Because there is too much truth in the statement.

  “Exactly. I kind of like that.” He lifts his arm and gently brushes my hair over my shoulder before turning me to face him, his hands coming to rest on my waist. “You know, I really like you, Kat. Just being with you. I mean, I know we don’t really know each other that well, and it’s only been, like, what? A few days?”

  I nod, scarcely believing this is happening.

  “But, I just…I don’t know…I feel different when I’m with you.”

  “I really like being with you, too,” I say, my voice a little unsteady. My heart hammers in my chest.

  “I’m really glad we met up again.” He pulls me closer. “I’m not trying to rush things, but I’d really like to see a lot more of you, if that’s OK.”

  I nod, trying to keep a ridiculous grin from spreading across my face. “That is…totally OK.” I place my hand on his chest, nervously fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

  “Cool,” he says, his hands sliding down to my hips.

  He tilts his head slightly to the side and leans towards me. I breathe in, inhaling the subtle smell of his aftershave and shampoo, the fragrance of laundry detergent in the fibers of his shirt, the slightly salty tang of his breath. I close my eyes and feel his lips touch mine, soft and warm. His kiss is firm, but gentle, his lips parting just enough to make my heart pound even harder.

  I’ve kissed only two other boys before. One in junior high, but that had been more of a nervous peck than a kiss after an awkward and prolonged date that I’d spent the entire evening wishing I’d never agreed to. The other had been last year, with a guy from my English lit class that Rachel had convinced me to go out with, but it had been so wet and sloppy I’d been grossed out for a week.

  This is nothing like either one. It feels…perfect.

  He pulls away and takes a deep breath. “I guess I better get you home. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  The last thing I want to do is go home, but I know he’s right and reluctantly get back in the truck.

  Just before eleven, he walks me to my front door. “Tonight was fun,” he says, his fingers intertwining with mine.

  “I had a great time,” I say, gazing into his eyes.

  He reaches for my other hand. “Maybe we can go to a movie or something this weekend.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll call you. We’ll set something up.”

  “OK. Good luck with the job tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.”

  He steps closer and bends his head to mine. The kiss lasts longer this time, his tongue just brushing mine before we pull apart. The blood soars through my veins, and I take a deep, steady breath, licking the taste of him from my lips.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” he murmurs, squeezing my hands.

  “OK. Goodnight.”

  He steps off the porch and starts toward his car, then turns around and dashes back up the stairs to give me one more lingering kiss before driving off.

  I lean against the front door and exhale loudly, unable to keep the smile from my face. Is this really happening? Is it possible? Sitting down on the porch swing, I wrap my arms around myself gleefully, thinking about the evening, and that we want to see a lot more of each other. I hug myself tighter, a stupid grin spreading across my face.

  Can it really be this easy? This uncomplicated? Relationships are supposed to come with conflict, aren’t they? The long, rocky road to love and all that. At least they always did in books and movies. And in the drama of my classmates dating lives. But maybe it doesn’t have to be like that. Maybe this will be the exception and it really can be as simple and straightforward as boy meets girl, and the rest follows.

  I think about how well Rick and I get along, and how much I enjoy being with him. Maybe there really is something to that whole chemistry thing Rachel is always talking about.

  I lean back with a sigh, smiling happily. Can things get any better?

  No, the voice inside my head says. But they can certainly get worse when you flip out in front of him.

  The smile leaves my face and I square my shoulders. That isn’t going to happen. Not now. Not ever. Because now I have even more reason to make sure no one ever knows about the things I see and hear.

  The sound of a car engine approaching draws my attention to the street. Glancing to the left, I see Lovell’s Range Rover pulling up to the curb. Not wanting to be seen, I slide down in the seat and watch furtively over the porch railing.

  He gets out of the truck and opens the back door, pulling out a non-descript, oversized brown box, like the ones that contain boots in a shoe store.

  He glances up and I duck my head. I hear his footsteps cross the sidewalk and I cautiously peek back over. He unlocks his front door and disappears inside, taking the box with him. A few moments later, the basement window glows with light.

  Overcome with curiosity, I stare at the window. What does he do with his time anyway? And why is he bringing back a box at eleven o’clock at night? I have an overwhelming urge to creep over and peek inside the window.

  Standing up, I move quietly away from the swing, reaching a foot out to the first step. I glance to the left and the basement light goes out. And then it dawns on me just what I’m doing. Shaking my head in disbelief, I turn back to my front door and go inside.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Nibbling on my breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast the next morning, I watch my mom out of the corner of my eye. She is sitting across from me, sipping her coffee in between bites of toast and strawberry jam, scanning the newspaper while the voice of a CNN reporter drones in the kitchen.

  Taking a deep breath, I plunge in. “Hey, Mom?”

  “Hmm?” She turns a page of the newspaper.

  “Since I have my license now, and I’d really like to look into getting a job, I’d like to buy a car.” I take a bite of eggs, nearly swallowing them whole as I wait for her reaction.

  She looks up in surprise. “A car?”

  I nod, smiling confidently. “Yeah. I mean, it makes sense, right?”

  Her brows draw together. “I don’t think so, honey. You’re awfully young to think about having a car. Give it a year or so. You just got your license.”
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  “But if I want a job, then I need some way of getting back and forth. And I’m sure you don’t want me to just sit around all summer.”

  “A job is fine. But there are other ways of getting there. I’ll take you or you can take the bus. You don’t have to have a car.”

  “You know I can’t always rely on you to get me back and forth. What if you’re out somewhere or have to work late?”

  “Then take the bus.”

  “Mom, come on. I don’t want to have to rely on the bus, either. I’d like to have at least a little independence.”

  She looks at me in exasperation. “This is because of Rachel, isn’t it? Because she got a car.”

  “No! It has nothing to do with Rachel. This is about me.”

  My mom sighs and lays the paper aside, looking at me over the top of her glasses. “I knew the moment you told me that Rachel had a car that it was only a matter of time before you would start saying you needed one, too…”

  “Mom, forget about Rachel.” I speak slowly, trying to remain calm and rational. “I want a car for me. So I can get a job, get where I need to be without being dependent on someone else.”

  My mom raises her eyebrows. “And just how do you propose to pay for this car?”

  “I’ve already saved almost all that I need. If you and Dad can front me the rest, I can pay you back over the summer.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know yet! Like I said, I’ll get a job. Maybe I could help Mr. Camenson at the antiques store. Or I’ll get a job at one of the stores in the mall, or maybe at the movie theatre. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out.”

  “You sound as if you already know what you want to buy.”

  “I do.” Biting my lower lip, I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “There’s a used Jeep Wrangler for sale down the street. I think it needs a little work, but I know somebody at school who loves to work on old cars. And he might be willing to help me fix it up. And, like I said, I’ve already got most of the money saved.”

  My mom narrows her eyes, her lip curling up in disgust. “Are you talking about that old beat up piece of junk that’s been for sale for months?”

  “Yeah! It’d be great!”

  My mom shakes her head vehemently. “No way. Why do you think it’s been for sale for so long? And why it’s so cheap? Even if it runs, you’d have to put more money into it that it’s worth. You need something more reliable than that.”

  “But, Mom, please! At least let’s take a look at it. Maybe this weekend Dad can check it out…”

  “There’s no way he’d let you buy that! Even if he did agree to let you have a car.”

  “Fine. Then can we look at something else?”

  “I’ll talk to Dad and see what he says. But I can almost guarantee you he’s not going to go for it.”

  “Great. Then I’ll just sit around and continue depending on everybody else for a ride.” I slump down in the chair, crossing my arms on my chest.

  “You can still get a job. Which you’ll need to pay for a car anyway.”

  “Whatever.” I know I’m angrier than I should be, but I’m too frustrated to care. And it upsets me that I’m arguing with my mom. That almost never happens. But I can’t understand why she is being so unreasonable.

  My mom stands and plants a kiss on my head. “I’ve got to go to work. We’ll talk about it later.”

  I nod without replying and, pushing aside my plate, reach for the newspaper. Grabbing the entertainment section, I comfort myself with the thought of seeing Rick this weekend. Maybe I’ll call him later and we can talk about what movie we want to see. I hear the front door close and the sound of my mom’s car engine fading away.

  Paging through the paper, my eyes land on a black and white advertisement for the annual renaissance festival. Looking at the picture of the jovial, smiling king inviting young and old to join in the revelry, I have a sudden flashback to my last visit. I haven’t thought about it in years. It had been another of those incomprehensible incidents that I chose to ignore, pushed away and locked in the vault of my memory. But suddenly it’s as clear and fresh as if it happened moments ago.

  I’m ten years old, seeing and hearing spirits on a near-daily basis, battling the increasing frequency of my nightmares and trying to pretend that everything is normal. More than anything, I want a break. And when my mom and dad and I head out in the car on a hot Saturday in July to make the forty-five minute drive to a deeply wooded area south of town, I couldn’t be happier or more relieved.

  The festival is a surreal mix of old-world charm and modern fairgrounds; an odd combination of opposing sights and sounds and smells: dirt and roasted turkey legs; fried ice cream and horse dung; trumpets and lutes; gentle singing and raucous laughter; feathered hats, swords and cell phones. Wooden vendors booths, selling everything from soft pretzels to handmade knives, line the hillsides. Jousters clad in gleaming silver armor, the horses beneath them draped in brightly colored silks ride in the direction of the arena. Fenced enclosures contain elephants and camels, wooden dragons and screaming children. It’s hot, dusty and crowded. Three hundred acres of distraction. Exactly what I need.

  We join the queue for steak-on-a-stick and funnel cake, and as I impatiently wait for the line to move forward, I spot a booth with a brightly painted wooden sign advertising Madame Carolyn – Psychic in fancy script. Squinting against the glare of the sun, I strain to read the rest: Fortune Teller, Future Forecaste, Tarot Readings, Stone Casting. The words psychic and fortuneteller blaze with intensity in the afternoon heat. Doesn’t that mean they can tell the future? Tell you things no one else knows? An idea begins forming in my head. An idea that never occurred to me before. Maybe there is someone who can help me, who will believe me. Maybe Madame Carolyn, whoever she is, can give me the answers I need.

  I know that I have to talk to her. But I also know that if I ask my mom and dad if I can have a reading there’ll be no way they’ll agree to it. They’ll laugh it off as foolishness. This is something I have to do on my own. But how can I get away? I look around, scanning the area, searching for something that will provide me with an excuse. There is a man drawing caricatures several feet to the right, but it’s too close. Beyond him is a woman doing face painting. Still too close. I look up the hill. The psychic’s booth is sandwiched between displays of sandstone wall plaques and handmade jewelry. Perfect.

  Tensing with nervousness, I sigh and shuffle my feet. Pulling at my mom’s sleeve, I say, “This is boring. Can I go look at the jewelry?”

  “Where?”

  “Just up there.” I point up the hill. Several yards away, it is close enough for her to keep an eye on me, but far enough where she won’t notice if I’m in the next booth. I hope.

  She looks at it doubtfully for a moment, before turning to my dad. “What do you think, honey? Do you think it’s OK for Kat to look at the jewelry up there while we wait in line?”

  “Sure,” he says. “That’s fine. Just don’t go anywhere else, OK? Stay where we can see you.”

  I nod, vigorously agreeing, and take off up the hill, my stomach churning with anxiety. What if I get caught? What if the psychic tells me something terrible? What if she can’t help me at all?

  Reaching the psychic’s booth, I glance inside. There is someone sitting in the chair opposite her, but no one else is waiting. I look back down at my mom and dad. They move forward, inching towards the head of the line. Their heads turn in unison in my direction, and I step into the jewelry booth and wave. They wave back and smile.

  Moving to the outer perimeter of the displays, I keep a close watch between the psychic and my parents. She is still talking to her customer, who shows no indication of leaving any time soon. Hurry, please hurry, I think, watching my parents continually move forward.

  Finally, the customer stands and leaves the booth. I look down the hill. My mom and dad step up to the counter. I look back at Madame Carolyn, arranging objects on the table in front of her. Suddenly,
I lose my courage. I can’t do it. I can’t talk to her. She’ll just think I’m crazy, too.

  But if I don’t, I might never know.

  I look down the hill. My dad reaches for his wallet. I look again at Madam Carolyn. She stands and heads to the back of the booth. And without further thought, I dart forward, stepping past the small fountain whose gently trickling water ensures a private conversation, and stand in front of the table.

  With her back turned to me, Madame Carolyn removes the shawl from her shoulders and reties the scarf around her head. I take a deep breath. “Excuse me?” My voice is barely above a whisper. “Can you help me, please?”

  She turns in surprise. She is wearing a long dark green dress, laced up the front, the sleeves ending in a point over her hands. She is younger than I thought, with a round face, long, curly blonde hair and blue eyes. She smiles, dimples creating deep indentations in her cheeks.

  “Good day, my lady,” she says, in a fake British accent. “How may I be of assistance?”

  Everyone who works here talks that way, as though they are addressing medieval nobility. It’s kind of weird, but right now, I don’t care.

  “I was wondering if you could…” I stop. If she can what? Tell me why I see ghosts? Why others don’t? Why dead people speak to me?

  She smiles, waiting patiently. “Yes, my lady?”

  “I was wondering,” I begin again, “if you could tell me my future” That’s not what I want, but I don’t know where else to start.

  “It would be my pleasure,” she says, gesturing for me to take a seat. “A reading is twenty dollars. That includes the cards, casting the stones and reading your palm. I’m sure we’ll learn many exciting things.”

  My heart sinks. I only have four dollars and some change left from the spending money my mom gave me earlier. “I don’t have that much.” I’m overwhelmed with disappointment and my eyes fill with tears. This was a terrible, foolish idea.