by Jolene Perry
My dad’s face. He’s sad. More than sad, desperate looking. Dark circles are under his eyes. He’s leaning over the railing of the hospital bed. He’s holding her hands. Exhaustion.
I look from my dad to her and back to my dad. What does this mean? Does she die? Is she sick? I want to throw up, and jerk my arm away with more force than I mean to. I’m usually better at hiding my emotions than this. I really have been around people too much. I’m still on edge.
“Micah?” Her voice floats out to me.
“Sorry, what?” It comes out in a rush of breath.
“I said it’s nice to finally meet you.” She’s looking at me with the same puzzled look that a lot of people do when I first shake their hand.
I don’t know my dad well, but my heart breaks a little for him. For whatever they’re about to go through together. “You too,” I whisper as I turn away. My eyes lock with Dad’s, and his stare holds something more than just looking at me. For the first time in my whole life, I think he might know something. He steps toward me and takes me in a hug. I see nothing, like always, and lean my head into his chest.
“I’m glad you made it all the way out here,” he says in my ear. It’s probably the most personal thing he’s said to me in my life.
I don’t want to let him go. He suddenly feels so safe—especially with all the visions I’ve been getting lately.
“I have some dinner saved for you.” Carol starts to the fridge.
Her voice brings me back to the present, and I step away from Dad. “Just an apple would be great.” I try to make eye contact. She needs to know I’m okay with her being here. Or, at least I’m trying to be. “Thank you, though.”
“You’re welcome.” Her face relaxes back into a smile. She’s pretty and probably younger than Dad. Everything about her feels soft—her eyes, her hair, her smile, her shape. She opens the fridge and pulls out an apple.
“I’m ready.” I hold my hands in the air. I’m not ready to see that picture again. I don’t want to risk being touched.
“Oh.” She pauses before tossing it over the kitchen island toward me.
“Thanks.” I hold it up before taking a bite.
“Your mother.” Dad shakes his head. “I’m guessing that’s where you get your love of apples from.”
“I guess.” I take a huge bite from the side.
Dad walks around the counter to put an arm around Carol’s waist, and she relaxes into him. He looks at her in a way that makes my heart feel like it’s being squeezed. I’m happy he’s happy, but it also makes me wonder if I’ll ever be able to be close to someone like that.
He keeps her hand as he steps away, and I’m jealous of something I can’t imagine being a part of.
“Will you two think I’m horribly rude if I crash?” Carol asks. She turns toward me, and then Dad.
“I’m pretty wiped.” I take another bite. It’s only about eight my time, but eleven for them. I also need to come up with some kind of plan to keep my distance from Carol without seeming weird.
“Night.” Dad gives me a half wave, raising his hand only slightly. But he looks hesitant, as if he’s afraid to move.
I take my apple and pack and walk into the small room Dad has set aside for me. It’s unchanged from my last visit. White sheets, white comforter, beige carpet, beige walls. I have a few books I left from my trip on the small desk, but that’s the only personal thing in the room. My bag slides to the floor, and I flop to sitting on the edge of the bed.
Carol’s contented sigh comes through my door as she and Dad pass my doorway. When my eyes close, I see her horrible picture again. What puts her in the hospital, and why do I have to know about it? Why do I have to know about my Dad’s upcoming sadness when I can’t do anything about it? Why did I have to see Lacey? Why did my vision from Mom get all weird white and black before going back to normal? Why do I see myself from Landon making me maybe want something that’ll never happen? And what on earth is up with the vision I saw from Steven?
My life is officially a disaster.
***
Burying myself in every blanket I can find doesn’t help with the cold. Maine is a different kind of cold—both damp and frigid. I give up, wrap a blanket around my shoulders, and walk into the kitchen. Maybe some hot chocolate will warm me up.
Dad is on the couch, in the dark, staring at the fire in the stove. I stop at the end of the hallway, unsure if I want to continue. His head jerks my direction as I take a step backward.
“Come sit.” He’s quiet and staring. His eyes are wary, and he almost leans away as I walk toward him.
I sit on the opposite end of the couch from Dad, mimicking his odd motions. My palms are suddenly sweaty, and every nerve’s on edge.
Our eyes lock, but I don’t know what to say to him, and he doesn’t speak. I pull my knees up and wrap the blanket around them, holding my legs tightly against me.
“You…um…” His eyebrows pull down, and he rubs his hand over his chin several times. “Don’t think I’m crazy for what I’m about to ask, okay?”
I freeze. Does he know? Is it the same for him? Does he have answers? Do I want them if he does? My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out the crackling of the fire.
“You see. Like when you touch someone.” He leans forward, and rests his elbows on his knees, clutching his hands together tightly.
I nod my chest tightening to the point where I have to consciously pull in a breath.
“Wow.” He sits back in his seat and takes a breath out. “That’s why I see nothing when we touch.” He brings his hand to his chin and rubs it a few times with his fingers.
“You?” I hold my breath, waiting for his response.
“Ever since I can remember.” His voice is soft, mumbled. He’s looking at the fire, not at me.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything!” And help me feel like I’m not completely alone? So many thoughts slam into my at once that I can’t form a coherent thought. Much less a sentence.
“Who have you told, Micah?” His brows rise slightly, and his eyes fill with sympathy. How many years has he carried his secret?
“But you’re my dad!” I sputter. “Shouldn’t you have watched me or something? Helped me out?”
“Shh.” He frowns, and the sadness spreads across his body, which further hunches forward. “I’m sorry. I guess… Yes. I should have asked you, or watched you more carefully. It’s that it’s only you and I when we’re together, and…” he trails off, maybe knowing he messed up. I’ll cling to that explanation.
“I tried to tell Mom once when I was about five, but the way she reacted made me know it wasn’t normal. I’ve never said anything to anyone.” The questions are flooding my head so fast I can’t make sense of them. Dad does this. He gets it. He understands.
“I can’t answer any questions. I don’t know.” He shakes his head.
My chest caves. He has no answers. We’re like two people who can do nothing more than empathize. “But you have to know something, Dad.”
“I don’t know what to do with this bizarre thing I do. It tortures me more often than not.”
All the visions I’ve gotten since moving start to push into my head. Lacey, the principal, from Steven. “The emotions are overwhelming.”
Dad’s head cocks to the side. “You feel, too?”
I nod.
His face falls a bit. “I’m sorry, Micah. I just see through the person’s eyes. I can’t imagine what it’s like to feel.”
I blink back a few tears and shake my head.
“I keep seeing Carol…” He sighs.
“Me too.” The memory of the vision is clear in my head. It’s awful. And then it hits me again. I share this with someone. He gets it. And he gets me on a whole different level.
Dad scoots to my side of the couch. His hand is on my arm. His fingers grasp my bicep with tight urgency. “What do you see?”
“I saw your face, looking sad. Her arms and a hospital bed.” I don’t want to reme
mber.
He shakes his head. “You can do better. Find the details.”
“What?” I’m always trying to block out what I see.
“Things can be changed, Micah. I just need some details.” His voice is pleading.
“What do you mean, changed?” Don’t tell me that I can change things for people. Please. I already feel too responsible.
“If I know she’s hurt in a car accident, maybe I can do something to prevent it. If she’s stricken with some odd disease, maybe I can learn about it now so I can prevent it. I don’t know!” I’ve never heard my dad so animated. He’s desperate.
“I don’t know how to get details, Dad.” Now that I’ve finally found someone who knows, who does this, who understands a part of me that no one else does—I’m going to let him down. And it’s my dad. My gut drops.
“Just pay attention tomorrow. When you touch her. Look closely. Check her wrist. The hospital, any equipment… Maybe you’ll see something I don’t. Maybe you’ll get an angle I haven’t…”
“You really love her.” He loves her, and he touches her, and she doesn’t know. It can be done. A whole new flood of relief fills me. I’m not alone. He found a way to be with someone.
He nods. “It’s the only time I’ve ever been thankful for what usually feels like a handicap. I brushed against her in the hallway, and I could see myself smiling in the picture. I knew I’d know her so I made it happen.”
“I’ll try, Dad. But I don’t know…” Lacey’s vision fills my head. “I don’t know how to make things turn out differently.” And if I find out that I can make things different, I’ll know I could have changed things for Lacey, and how much worse would I feel?
“You don’t have to change anything. I just need some details.” His voice is quiet.
“I’ll try.” It feels like the weight I just lost in knowing I’m not alone, was just added back on.
“I’ve never opened myself up to anyone but your mom. I don’t want to lose Carol.” He leans his head back on the couch.
“Mom?” This can’t be right.
“I loved her very much. Your mother was a kind of fantasy for me.” He chuckles. “Gorgeous, fun, a million miles higher on the social ladder than I’d ever be. I’m only saying this because you’re old enough to hear it.”
“I guess I always assumed it was just some passing thing.” I’m starting to relax back into the couch, but only because I feel helpless in a million different ways.
“For her, it was. Not for me. I could see her moving on before she did.” Dad runs his hand over his nearly bald head.
“Wow.” We sit in silence for a few moments. “How did you two end up…close?”
He’s lost in thought, smiling and staring into the fire. “I won two tickets to this little island in the Bahamas. There was some research I wanted to do. I took a chance and asked your mom to come. Has she never told you this?”
“She did. I want to hear your side.” I wait for him to say more.
“She started to pull away after a few days down there together. I think she felt bad. Like she was taking advantage of me, knowing I felt more than she did. I’m sure she also worried about what I’d expect from her when we returned. I promised her that I’d let her go when we got home, and be okay about it, if she’d just let herself enjoy the time with me.”
“And she did.” Mom had always told me that they spent an amazing week together, but that’s all it was meant to be. A week.
“She did.”
“And when you got back she was pregnant and kind of freaked out and took off?” I ask.
“You’d know better than me.” He readjusts and stretches his legs out and watches the flames. He’s done reminiscing.
I lean my head onto his shoulder. “Dad? Why can I do this? See things? What purpose does it serve? Where does it come from?” I know he doesn’t know, but I feel this compulsion to ask all the same.
“I don’t know. I wish I could help you. Give you some answers.” He kisses the top of my head.
“It’s okay.” Only it’s not okay. Parents are supposed to know things. Dad does what I can do, and he’s been doing it a lot longer. He should definitely have some answers by now. Or maybe there aren’t any answers to get. Maybe we’re just a bizarre anomaly.
“I love you, Micah. You know that, right? I mean I don’t talk…and we…”
“I know it, Dad. I love you, too.” I close my eyes and soak up the warmth.
How has it taken eighteen years for this to come out? Why did he never ask me before if it’s something he can do? Will I end up as quiet as he is? He’s not alone now, but he’s been alone for a while. Will that be me? Will I be able to find a way to have close friends? A boyfriend? It feels impossible. Dad living alone for most of his life isn’t very encouraging.
***
Carol and I stand in front of the dressing room mirror together, staring. “I agree with you that it’s beautiful.” I look over my shoulder at her. “But I can’t think of when I’d wear it.”
She lets out a sigh. “Well I don’t want to take prom dress shopping away from your mom, but it would be perfect for that. Scott…well, your dad, said that you’re headed to college. I’m sure you’d find an opportunity to wear it then.”
“Blue silk chiffon?” I run my hands down the fabric again.
“With your blond hair and blue eyes?”
It’s the strapless, silk version of a beach dress. The bodice is wrapped into these tiny folds and layers of fabric but is fitted. The waist is slightly high and the skirt is slim but gathered. The hem touches the floor, and I feel like a goddess. The silk chiffon is thin and layered, making the dress look like the ocean when it moves. I realize I’ve been staring at myself for too long.
“Please?” Her excited smile is impossible to say no to.
“Thank you.” I hug her.
Dad’s face. Sadness. He’s bent over the railing of the bed. Her hand in his. A hospital bracelet and standard equipment.
I strain to make out the lettering on the bracelet, but the grey type is impossible to read.
“This has been fun, Micah. Thanks for letting me tag along.” Her smile is relaxed. I realize that she was probably a lot more nervous to meet me than I was to meet her.
“You’re not the one tagging along.” I point to Dad half-asleep in the chair outside the waiting room amazed that I can slough off the vision fast enough to sound normal.
She laughs. “We’ll meet you out there. I’ll go wake up your dad.”
I don’t want to, but I reach out and touch her shoulder again hoping to see something new. Anything.
Same, same.
My chest sinks a little. I’m not going to be able to help. Dad and I are finally really talking, and I’m going to let him down.
***
The few days at Dad’s house are devoted to spending time with Carol—bracing myself to touch her over and over. I search for details, but can’t see anything that could help Dad know why she’s there. What’s the point? What’s the point of knowing about things we can’t change? I’m more frustrated than I’ve ever been, and can’t wait to go home.
I find my seat on the plane and stare out the window. My legs are pressed against the wall, away from the guy next to me. I should be safe. I close my eyes and think about Carol. I try to see the picture in my mind. The hospital bed has grey and white railings. Dad’s face is a mixture of sadness and despair. The monitors are so far on the periphery, I can’t see them at all. I start to drift off when I realize her bracelet has a heart on it. A small one. It might be nothing, but it might be something.
I scroll to Dad’s number and hit send with trembling fingers. Maybe I haven’t let him down.
“Micah? Is there a problem?” His voice sounds stressed.
“On her bracelet, there’s a small red heart.” I want to get out the most important parts before I’m asked to turn off my cell.
“What?”
“The picture. Of Carol. A sma
ll red heart.”
I hear him exhale. “Wow, Micah. Thank you.”
“I don’t know if it will help, but it might.” I hope it does. I hope it gives Dad something to go on.
“It helps.” His side is silent for a moment. “Let’s not let so much time go by before we get together again, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dad.” I hang up as the plane starts to move. I’m relieved I was able to contribute something, even if it doesn’t change anything in the end. I also have relief over finally having someone to talk to about the crazy things I see.
The drone of the airplane engines pulls me into sleep as the plane starts to climb. I have a long way to go to get home. And a lot of stuff I don’t want to deal with waiting for me when I get there.
TEN
It’s raining lightly, and my hair is unruly curly in this weather. I knot it up as best I can, but my rubber band breaks, and I give up, letting it fall over my shoulders and down my back. I can reach my hand up behind me and feel the bottom of it. I should probably go in for a haircut, or have Mom do it for me. That seems a lot easier. I just have to hope that nothing too graphic between her and Ethan is running through her head. It actually makes me feel guilty and uncomfortable on a lot of levels. It’s probably not worth the risk, even from Mom. My hair might just continue to grow.
I’ve been scouring the internet for ages looking for anything else related to the voodoo woman and doll burning for my school group project and coming up almost empty. All the stories take things too far, and make this less of a history project, and more of a ghost story. Nearly everything I’ve found says that she gave up all her magic before she died as penance for the people who were cast into shadow. Sons, daughters, and family of the people shoved between the life of the living and the life of the dead were given gifts. Talents. It’s all like the information my group has already collected. I’m not adding anything new to the project.
Even though it’s just a story, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I think about the idea of people who move through shadows—spread across the world seeking their descendants so the magic that was passed down can set them free. Whoever came up with this, had a pretty crazy imagination. I wish that I knew what the supposed “talents” are. Everything along those lines is pure speculation—from fortune-telling to manipulation to all sorts of extra sensory perception.
