Glory is full of crap. She was born in the wrong era, wrong generation, or maybe she drank too much or smoked too much weed when she was my age of seventeen. Any way I look at it, her forty-year-old mind is shot. There isn’t some magical, mystical realm full of fairies and unicorns. There’s the real world and real problems. I can’t help it if Glory can’t deal with reality.
“I don’t remember inviting you.”
“I have an extended invitation,” she says.
“Three in the morning is beyond visiting hours.”
“Visiting hours are for conventional people, and there’s nothing conventional about any of us.” Glory float-walks to the other side of Gran, sits on the edge of the bed and gently takes her hand. “She’s going to pass tonight.”
“You don’t know that,” I snap.
She flips Gran’s hand over, traces her fingers over Gran’s palm and concentrates as she silently does a “reading.” I don’t bother to hide the roll of my eyes as I cross my arms. I lean back in the wooden chair as if I’m cool and calm instead of seconds away from losing my temper. If Gran didn’t love Glory so much, I’d kick her out.
Glory is family in the eighteenth-cousin-twice-removed way, and because of that, Gran has permitted Glory to live rent-free in the rundown cottage at the other side of the six hundred acres Gran owns. There, Glory-the-Con-Artist runs her tarot-card/palm-reading business. People pay her money so she can scam them and tell them lies.
There are three Lachlins left in this world: me, Glory, and Gran. Glory possesses a hint of the Lachlin bloodline, but Gran and I are the last full-blood heirs. This meant so much to Gran and my mom that they refused to give me my father’s last name. Instead, I have my grandmother’s maiden name: Lachlin.
According to my great-grandfather’s last will and testament, the land can be passed down only to a direct Lachlin descendant. Gran and I are the last of a dying breed. After me, the Lachlins will be extinct.
Glory’s shoulders drop with a long exhale, as if holding the palm of a weak woman is exhausting. She then lovingly rolls Gran’s fingers into a fist. “Yes, she’ll be crossing over soon.”
A muscle in my jaw twitches, and as I open my mouth to tell Glory she’s no longer welcome, Gran’s eyes flutter open. “I want her here.”
I can’t figure out if I’m annoyed that Gran’s been lying there listening or relieved she’s still coherent. Gran looks frail tonight, and if my grandmother has been known for anything, it’s for not being weak. She has a reputation as a kick-ass type of woman. She’s also known as eccentric. That’s a nice word for weird. Kick-ass, eccentric, and weird. Describes her well and it hurts bad in the chest that her body hasn’t kept up with her mind.
Glory leans over the bed, and with a gentle hand, brushes Gran’s short, white hair away from her forehead. “I brought saffron to make tea. It will help clear your centers and connect you better with the universe. Would you like some?”
Gran agrees, and I’m grateful Glory leaves the room. Once she’s down the hall, I scoot to the edge of my seat and readjust Gran’s favorite crocheted blanket so it covers her better. “Are you doing okay?”
She rolls her head in my direction, and I hate how much effort it takes. This isn’t my grandmother. My gran is a woman who laughs too loud, speaks even louder, and who loves me when no one else does. She took me in when I was thrown away, and she’s the only person over the past couple of years I have allowed myself to love.
My throat thickens, and I clear it. Crying’s not my thing, but this is my gran, and without her, I’m nothing. A storm rumbles in the distance.
“Don’t be scared, Jesse.” Her voice cracks on my name.
“I’m too old to be scared of the dark.” I’m teasing her, a reminder of when I was younger and how she would sit up with me on nights when the thunder and lightning felt too close and too dangerous.
“There are different types of fear.”
That I know.
“I was a child when your great-grandma died,” she says. “She died in her bed, in our house, and it scared me, but Daddy told me to not be frightened, because her dying in the house meant I wasn’t alone.”
Good thing we don’t live in her childhood home, the condemned and falling-apart building next to our trailer. Otherwise, I would have grown up with one more ghost rattling around in my mind. There’re enough annoying spirits there already, and the ones that do haunt me have loud voices and strong opinions. Most of them telling me when I look in the mirror how I’m doing everything wrong.
“Don’t be scared of death.”
Death doesn’t bother me. Her dying does.
“I love this land. Almost as much as I love you.” Gran reaches out, a silent request for me to take her hand, and without thought, I do. Her skin is cold and translucent, her grip too weak, and I hold on for more than what I’m worth. “Scatter my ashes next to where your mom is buried.”
Gran doesn’t understand how I’m walking the line of crazy. I can’t comprehend a world where she isn’t here when I return home. A click of her tongue when I show past curfew, a knowing and proud smile when I come in covered in mud after working on our land, a hot oatmeal cookie after a long, hard day…
“Your uncle doesn’t think you’re responsible enough to own the land,” she continues.
My non-blood, married-into-the-family uncle and I share an unusual amount of hate. He doesn’t trust me, I don’t trust him, and he’s made it his full-time job to make my life a living hell. We have to deal with each other because he has power of attorney for Gran.
“He’s wrong,” I say.
“He says you’re more interested in the money than in the legacy.”
“He’s wrong again.” And he needs to keep his mouth shut.
“I know he is,” she says softly, then gasps for air. It’s such a tight wheeze that I breathe in for her and wish that her lungs would fully fill the way mine do. “He doesn’t understand how you love this land. I doubt even I fully understand. There’s a connection between it and you. I see it in your eyes every time you come in from walking through the fields. But I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” I say, and the sad flash in her eyes tells me she thinks that’s a lie. “You know this land brings me peace.” And that’s the truth.
When everything in my life has gone to hell, I’ve had this land and Gran. When she passes, the land is all I’ll have left. People look at this ground and see trees, grass, and fields. They see what they think is nothing. They see a backwards life in a technology-driven future.
They don’t see what I see, and what I see is my only shot at happiness. I see something that’s alive, that breathes, and is as much a part of me as my arms and legs. The land doesn’t judge. It doesn’t put expectations upon me I’ll never meet. It accepts. My soul and the land’s soul are intertwined. What happens to it, happens to me. We aren’t separate. We’re one.
“Don’t talk, Gran. You’ll feel better after some sleep, and in the morning, I’ll make you a hot breakfast.”
She studies me, and I’m afraid of what she sees. “I know what the people in town say. I know what some people in our family have said. I’ve told you this for years, but I need you to hear it again: there’s no curse.”
She squeezes my hand, but I can’t speak. Gran being so feeble is already bringing up too many memories of Mom, and the pain in my chest is so intense that a part of me wishes I was the one dying.
“If there was a curse,” she says, “then you wouldn’t be here. You’ve brought me more joy than I should have ever been allowed.”
I lightly chuckle. “You weren’t saying that when Uncle Marshall bailed me out of jail a couple of months ago.”
She laughs and squeezes my hand again. “You’re a challenge, but most things worth loving are.” Her smile fades. “That’s what I want for you. I don’t want you to be scared to love.”
Footsteps approach from the hallway and Glory enters with a steaming teacup. I move t
o help prop up Gran so she can drink, but she shakes her head. “Let Glory read your palm.”
I tip back the wooden chair I’m in so that it leans against the wall. “You don’t believe there’s a curse, yet you believe she can talk to dead people and see the future?”
“Yes,” Gran says without blinking. “So, give her your hand. I want to know your future.”
“I don’t.” I have no interest in knowing anything beyond today.
“That sounds like you believe I have the gift.” Glory sets the teacup on the bedside table, then peels a lock of her wet hair off her face. “And you’re scared of what I’ll tell you.”
“I believe you’re a hustler who makes a buck off people who are easy reads.”
“Nothing about you is easy. In fact, everything about you is very difficult.”
“Let me guess, I’m a tortured soul, and next week I’m going to see a blue bird and that blue bird’s going to represent a dead family member of mine who is there to tell me to be at peace with my soul.”
The ends of Glory’s mouth edge up—sarcastic and dry. “It’ll be a black bird, actually, and the bird will not bring peace to your soul. The sight of it will trouble you.”
Another keen observation based on things every person in town already knows—my soul is always troubled.
“You believe you are cursed.” Glory watches me as if she sees more than what exists. “Is it so hard to stretch your belief in the Lachlin curse to thinking there are those of us who possess a supernatural gift?”
“I’m cursed,” I say, “because I have to listen to you spew lies about spirits beyond the grave.”
While Gran isn’t paying attention, Glory has the balls to smirk at me.
“Give her your hand,” Gran presses.
“Gran,” I start to protest, but she holds up her hand, stopping me.
“I did something to help you,” Gran whispers, and my heart stops beating. “I want to make sure I made the right decision.”
I push off the wall, and the front legs of the chair hit the floor with a crack. “What did you do?”
“Let her read your palm,” Gran says, and as I open my mouth to argue, she raises her voice to a tone I haven’t heard in weeks. “Let her read your palm!”
I put out my hand, palm up, forcing Glory to come to me. She crosses the cramped room. I can’t maneuver without ramming into a piece of furniture, but Glory breezes past it all and takes my hand in her smaller one.
“What’s his future?” Gran asks.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Any more ridiculous than the curse?” Glory whispers so only I can hear. “I know what you really believe, and I know how you think you can break the curse.”
I go to snatch my hand back, but Glory keeps a firm grip. Gran’s watching us intently, so to appease her, I stay still. Glory’s fingernail, painted blood red, follows a long line at the center of my palm, then traces the dissecting smaller ones.
“He will be tested,” Glory says in a far-off voice. The perfected one she does for effect.
“Yeah. I start school next week. Tests happen.” Especially for a senior.
Glory ignores me, and Gran coughs, the rasping sound scraping the inside of my skull. “I know this. Tell me what I want to know.”
“This is more. The universe has decided to take advantage of your plan.”
A sickness sloshes in my stomach. “What did you do, Gran?”
My uncle has been here more than normal. Paperwork in his hands every time. Gran told me she was updating her will. She told me she and my uncle were protecting me. I assumed it was to close some legal loopholes involving me being a minor and inheriting the land. I silently curse, because I should have been smarter and asked for specifics.
Glory’s eyebrows knit together as she narrows her gaze on my palm.
“Trying to see what I had for dinner?” I mumble.
“Jesse’s future is unclear, Suzanne.”
“Because you’re a fake,” I whisper, but I give her credit. She never loses her focus.
“Jesse is a volatile soul. You know this. Unless he has a clear understanding of who he is, I can’t see what his choices will be.” Her forehead furrows now, as if watching my palm is causing her pain. All of which I don’t buy.
“Did I make a mistake?” Gran asks as a wheeze. “Will he lose the land?”
“I don’t know. I can’t tell.”
My entire body jolts as if struck by electricity. I yank my hand away from Glory’s grip and turn my attention to Gran. “Why are you asking about the land? Why would I lose it?”
Gran’s chest rises, and then she blows out a breath. A breath that’s too long. A breath that’s too final. Johnny Cash begins the chorus of her favorite song, and that craziness in my head becomes a scream in my ears as I wait for her to inhale again.
Johnny’s deep voice croons about sunshine, and as if in slow motion, Gran’s eyelids shut.
The Novella Collection: A series of short stories for the Pushing the Limits series, Thunder Road series, and Only a Breath Apart Page 22
