by Stacy Juba
Maybe Dawn would have been happier with a mother like her. She pushed aside the thought and said, "That was wonderful of your mom. It was hard moving away from my apartment and leaving behind things that reminded me of my dad."
Like the den where he used to do bills and her bedroom where he tucked her in at night. She would never see the inside of that apartment again. Worse, her mother had a furniture sale and got rid of the puffy recliner chair where her dad would read books. Dawn winced as a sharp pain jabbed her heart. Since moving to Maine, it felt as if she’d lost what little she had of her father.
"She would have copied more of the murals if she’d had the energy," Ken said. "She didn’t."
Dawn bit her lip. Her mother had told her a little bit about Ken’s mom, and the months before her death sounded terrible with seizures and strokes all resulting from a change in a lifelong mole. Dawn didn’t know what to say other than, "I’m so sorry."
"Melanoma’s curable if it’s caught in time, but her doctor didn’t have a clue. She showed him the mole and he told her not to worry about it. He still gets to see patients, while my mom..." Ken sat up and gripped a rolled-up sports magazine in his fist.
Suddenly Dawn saw herself at age seven, eating macaroni and cheese as the phone rang. Her mother answered it, expecting a friend to be calling back. A minute later, her mother dropped into a chair in a daze and Dawn’s world collapsed around her.
"I don’t know what’s worse, having it happen suddenly like with my dad, or watching someone you love suffer." Dawn curved her back against the doorframe, the wood cold through her shirt.
"Stinks either way," Ken said. "My friends gripe about their parents getting divorced and hardly seeing their mom or dad. At least they can pick up the stupid phone."
"I know." Dawn turned her head, so Ken wouldn’t notice as she wiped her eyes. This must be why he had been acting friendlier lately. They had a lot in common.
But as much as Ken tried, he would never understand Dawn the way her new friends did.
***
The next day, Dawn sipped mint tea in Serina's dim sitting room, the warm liquid comforting her. She and Candace sat cross-legged on the loveseat with Jamie perched on the matching chair. Dawn closed her eyes, the tranquil forest sounds and soothing music washing over her. The music, bubbling tabletop fountain, candles and cinnamon-scented incense lulled her, made everything surreal.
"You like it, don't you?" Candace asked.
Dawn's eyes shot open. "What?"
"The tea."
"Oh. Yeah, it's good."
A smile hovered on Jamie's lips. "Is Ken Magnuson really your stepbrother?"
"You know him?" Dawn asked.
"Sort of. He's way cute, and he's a sweetie-pie too. Ken helped me open my locker once. You’re so lucky."
Candace made a gagging sound. "He’s practically her brother. What do you think, they’re gonna fall in love?"
"I saw a movie about that once," Jamie said a little defensively.
Dawn laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you, but trust me, it won’t happen. My mom’s married to his dad. How gross is that? It is almost like we’re related."
Serina drew back the sheer curtains and entered in a tan blouse and flared black skirt. Her rose perfume scented the air. "Hello, Dawn. I'm delighted you're back. I hope you find this exercise enlightening."
"Thanks for inviting me," Dawn said.
Serina smiled. "Before we start, we're going to get centered. Meditation is the foundation of psychic abilities. It’s a time to recharge your battery and clear your head of debris. Our minds like to jump around and must be told to sit still. It will help your intuitive voice, your will and your highest energy become available to you."
Dawn noticed the others had closed their eyes and were breathing long and deep. She imitated them, trying not to feel self conscious.
"Fill your lungs, hold your breath for a second or two, then let it out, emptying your lungs." Serina walked over to Dawn, her skirt sweeping across her sandals. "Allow your conscious mind to rest. This isn't anything paranormal. It's simple meditation that can benefit anyone."
"Okay." Her chest rising and falling, Dawn listened to Serina's quiet instructions.
"Become aware of being in your body, your bones, your internal organs, your skin and muscle. The beating of your heart."
Heat radiated from Dawn's toes to her forehead, fuzziness that wrapped around her like a swaddling blanket. Serina had them imagine warmth tingling through each body part, from their head to their toes. She then told them to envision a cool green forest under a canopy of trees. Dawn didn’t know how much time had passed when Serina steered them back to reality.
"You might open your eyes a little and become aware of your surroundings," Serina said. "Notice that you feel much better than you did before. Now you’re back completely and are totally calm."
Warm peacefulness enveloped Dawn. She hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. If ever.
"Dawn, let me give you some background." Serina remained standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips. "As we’ve discussed, we have four psychic senses, even though you hear them all grouped together under the ‘sixth sense.’ We’re generally stronger in one or two of them. You said that you’ve picked up people’s thoughts. That means your psychic hearing is well-developed."
"What does that mean, exactly?" Dawn asked with a shiver.
"It’s so close to your own thinking, you may not have realized you were hearing psychically," Serina said. "It’s not just hearing people’s thoughts. In fact, that’s unusual. It’s asking a question of the universe and getting a response from our spirit guide. As we do these exercises, try to become aware of which senses seem the most natural. You can improve the others, but they won’t be as reliable."
Dawn nodded. She understood what Serina meant. Kind of. She’d heard a voice of reason her whole life, but assumed it was her own intuition. Having a personal spirit guide sounded cool.
"I see you nodding, Dawn," Serina said. "Do you communicate with a spirit guide?"
Dawn sneaked a glance at Jamie and Candace, who were listening with interest. Speculating about spirit guides didn’t faze them in the least. Unlike the rest of the world, they wouldn’t think she was crazy if she admitted that Serina’s words struck a chord.
"I do get this gentle voice in my head giving me advice," Dawn said after a hesitation. "I figured it was just my own thoughts, or my mind playing tricks on me. Once in awhile it’s really loud, like when I had to call an ambulance for Mrs. Frazier or when Scott ran out into the street."
One of Serina’s eyebrows lifted higher than the other. "Be careful not to trust it too much as not all spirits are watching out for our best interests. Some like to play games. We often pick up psychic trash, equivalent to a radio between stations. Just because you intuit something with your psychic senses doesn’t mean it’s of value."
Was that what she was tuning into? Psychic trash? A slow flush heated Dawn’s face and neck. She stole another look at her friends, hoping they weren’t amused by her naiveté, but Serina owned their attention.
Serina picked up a wooden antique box with a metal latch and scalloped metal trim from the table, rose and handed it to Jamie. "I think we're ready. All of your personal items are inside, holding the energy of their owners. Why don't you go first and concentrate on the object that Candace brought?"
Squeezing her eyes shut, Jamie traced circles over the carved walnut finish. "I don't know. I'm not getting anything."
"You're trying too hard, not using your unconscious."
"I see … a ring?" Jamie asked.
"Tell us about it." Serina's tone didn't change.
"I can't."
Relief flowed over Dawn that Jamie was faltering. It shouldn’t have been a surprise since Jamie had confessed to her lack of ability, but seeing it firsthand eased the pressure a bit.
"You’re trying to visualize," Serina said. "Remember, your strength is feeling. You ne
ed to accept and analyze even the most fleeting impressions. Does the object feel new? Old? Does it give you a sense of happiness? Sadness? Don’t limit yourself to Candace. Perhaps you can get a better read on what Dawn brought."
"I feel sad, I guess," Jamie said. "But that’s all I can tell you."
"That’s okay. It was a fine start."
"I’ll get the hang of this stuff, Serina. I promise." Jamie hiked her chin in determination.
Sympathy stirred within Dawn. How amazing that Jamie could want to be psychic when for so long Dawn had wished she could throw her abilities away.
"With time, you'll improve," Serina said. "It's a matter of unlearning what you've been taught since childhood, which isn't easy. I started training when I was only eleven, and had a series of teachers during my teens. I didn't reach my maximum potential until I was in my twenties."
"How did you find a teacher so young?" Jamie asked. "I thought your parents didn't like your abilities."
"I did it behind their backs. My first teacher was a friend of my late aunt's. But that's ancient history. Let's give Dawn a chance to guess Candace's object."
Jamie passed over the box and Dawn stroked the metal studs. She got nothing.
"Feel the vibration," Serina said. "Don’t try, just feel."
Dawn gulped. Please, let me do better than Jamie. She mentally imagined herself raising the lid. Sudden warmth seeped through the box, as if someone had lit a candle inside. A series of images flashed in her mind, one after the other. Oh, thank God. She kept her voice even, though she wanted to shout with glee.
"It's a glittering rhinestone clip with teal in it. I see a jewelry store at the mall. I think Candace bought it to go with a dress she has. I see her looking at earrings, too."
Serina clapped and Dawn relished her pleased smile. "You're doing beautifully, my dear. You must be highly visual. Remember that visions go hand-in-hand with symbols. Images might not always mean what you think. Do you know where she wants to wear the dress?"
"To the Homecoming Dance," Dawn said automatically. "There's a boy in English class she likes. I see the letter T white against a black background. I think his name starts with T."
Oops. Maybe Dawn had revealed too much. Candace looked stunned, as if she hadn’t expected Dawn to probe so deep.
Serina’s smile shifting into a frown, she glided forward until she was looming over Candace. "That wouldn't be Tim Travers, would it?"
Candace picked at a piece of lint in her lap. "Maybe."
"The same Tim Travers who’s dating your sister?" Serina asked, her voice dropping an octave. "The guy who chose you last in gym and called you a klutz until he started going out with her? He's who you want to ask to the dance?"
Sister? Vicky was dating Tim Travers. She and Candace couldn't be sisters. Dawn squinted at her friend, searching for a resemblance, but they weren't anything alike in appearance or personality. Vicky was pretty, popular and kind, while Candace was ... well, Candace. Boy, had her psychic receptors been off. She never would have paired up those two.
Candace reddened. "I'd never ask him. I couldn't. He's always with Victoria. I hate her, Serina. All she and her dumb friends do is gossip, and Tim worships her. It's not fair. Why does she get everything?"
This didn't sound like the Vicky who had defended Dawn in the school parking lot and talked with her after Scott was killed. Dawn wanted to interrupt, but remained silent.
"I keep hoping he'll see how shallow she is," Candace said. "That he'd like me instead."
"Do you really think that will happen?" Serina asked.
"I guess not."
"Then stop wasting your energy. You need it for your training. Believe me, Candace, I know how it hurts to like someone who doesn't reciprocate. I had a crush on a boy in high school, and I was naive enough to think that he liked me, too. I was wrong and he hurt me badly."
Tears brightened Candace's eyes and she attacked them with her sleeve. "How did you get over him? I'd forget about him if I could, but I can't."
"By concentrating on my psychic abilities so I'd never be vulnerable again. People like Tim Travers and your sister think they're better than you, but they're not. No one is better than you." Serina withdrew the box from Dawn’s hands and gripped it tight.
Dawn hesitated, wondering if she should say anything. "I met Vicky, but I didn't realize who she was. She stood up for me with Renee and Tim."
"Don't fall for her act," Candace warned. "She's dissing you behind your back. Victoria's not what you think."
"How come you call her Victoria?" Dawn asked.
"Because she thinks she's a queen. My turn." Candace accepted the box from Serina and held it in her lap. She closed her eyes, visualizing the object Dawn had brought.
"I see a dark-haired man in his thirties. Something bad happened to him. A car accident?"
A funny feeling twisted in the pit of Dawn’s stomach. She’d never been on the receiving end of a psychic impression before. No wonder people felt uncomfortable around her. It was a little unsettling.
"My father was killed in an accident on the way home from work when I was seven," Dawn said.
Jamie covered her mouth and exclaimed, "How horrible! Dawn, I'm so sorry. I’ve never met my father, but I can’t imagine loving him and then losing him."
Serina took back the box and unhooked the clasp. She pulled out the framed photograph and studied it, walking forward a couple feet. "He was very handsome. But..."
"What is it?" Dawn asked.
"I sense that there has been some dishonesty revolving around your father. There is a secret being kept from you." Serina whirled to look back at her, white blonde hair streaming around her face.
"A secret?"
"Something that haunts you even now."
"There is one thing," Dawn said. "When we were moving, I came across a newspaper clipping about my father's death. Since it was a fatal accident, the paper did a write-up. The police said my father had been speeding."
"Your mother lied to you?" Candace asked.
"She thought it would upset me if I knew he'd been careless."
"Did it?"
"Well, yeah. I went to my room and bawled. I hated thinking he'd died because he was in a hurry. I mean, what could have been so important that he had to speed?"
Jamie turned to Serina. "Could that be the secret?"
"Only one person can say, and I'm not the one with the answer." Serina added hot water to each of their mugs. "Dawn, will you join us tomorrow?"
"I want to, but ... what do you get out of this, Serina?" Dawn asked. "Aren't we taking time away from your clients? Your paid clients?"
Serina paused, the kettle in her hands. "I remember what it's like to be young and afraid. To doubt what you know to be true. If I can make you feel better about yourselves, so you don't have to suffer as I did, it will be payment enough."
"People like us have to stick together," Candace said.
"Will you join us?" Serina repeated.
Dawn only had to think about it for a few seconds. Until now, her life had been an unsolved jigsaw puzzle. Serina could help her assemble the pieces.
"Yeah," Dawn said quietly. "I will."
Chapter Seven
Dawn sprawled across the living room carpet on her stomach, studying for her World History quiz. "Pop quiz" had ignited in Dawn’s brain as she was leaving class, even though her teacher offered no forewarning.
But Dawn couldn’t focus on her textbook, Serina's words rehashing in her mind. Was there another secret in her past besides the car accident? Her mother would never tell her; that was for sure.
Dawn frowned as her mom nestled beside Jeff on the couch, engrossed in a novel. Her mother had a convenient tendency to forget things. She was acting as if their latest fight had never happened.
Jeff folded The Covington Daily Tribune, his competition newspaper, onto the coffee table. "There’s a story in here about how some kids had a candlelight vigil for Scott. I don’t get how this accide
nt happened. From what I’ve heard, the police still think he was showing off."
"He didn’t seem the type, from everything you told me about him," Dawn’s mother said, inserting her bookmark. "It doesn’t sound as if the kids at the gas station were egging him on."
Dawn pretended to read her history book as they speculated. Her mother, Jeff and Ken planned to attend Scott's funeral the next morning, but her intuition advised her to skip it or Renee would stir up trouble. Still, part of her yearned to pay her last respects. It hurt to see Scott’s empty seat as they watched The Crucible in English and to hear Mrs. Welch stutter where she should have read off his name in gym.
A cool salty breeze blew through the screen door. Indian summer had faded fast and life was moving on. The seasons would change, and Scott would still be dead.
His family would mourn for a long, long time. Dawn gasped at a mental image of Scott's mother sobbing on his bed under his sports posters. Her black hair hung uncombed and dried mascara stained her pale cheeks. Another image appeared, Scott's little brother huddled in a corner, hugging a beat-up baseball mitt.
"You okay?" Jeff asked.
Dawn glanced up to meet her stepfather’s intent gaze. Her mother had downplayed the witch rumors, telling Jeff the kids at school must be immature to make up such ridiculous stories. Still, Jeff didn’t act embarrassed that his stepdaughter was being metaphorically burned at the stake. He hadn’t treated her any differently.
"Yeah, I’m fine," she murmured.
"I heard a couple women talking about the funeral at the grocery store," her mother said absently. "Scott’s brother is in Cub Scouts and some of the little boys are coming. It sounds like it will be a big funeral."
She was thinking about Dawn's father. Dawn could tell by the way her mother was unconsciously twisting her wedding band. Jeff’s diamond glittered on her finger now, but she’d worn her original rings for years after Dawn’s father died. When Dawn sensed her thinking of him, often on birthdays or holidays, her mother would stare down at her lap and twist the gold bands as she was doing now.
