The Girl He Needs (17 page)

“Of nothing. The only people calling are to cancel or schedule and they can do that during business hours or leave a message. That’s how this works. Being at the beck and call of the shop is not going to make Mark sell it to you any sooner. Why would he? You do everything already and he takes the largest cut.” I hadn’t meant to bring up work frustrations on his birthday but it’s hard watching him bust his hump so much—and for what?

“Hey, Mark gave me my first chance. Mark’s the one who taught a young boy to dream and look at where I am now.” He tucks his key into his pocket while holding out his palm, assuming I’ll give the phone back.

“Ok, I’m sorry about trashing Mark. But it’s your birthday and I want you to forget about the everyday stuff and just enjoy today, this moment.” I play with a button on his shirt, ignoring his extended hand. “Let me keep the phone. I promise you won’t miss anything.”

“OK,” he says without hesitation.

“Wow.” I search his face, not moving an inch.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go.” He nudges me to move.

“I’m waiting for some sign that you’re really having a stroke or something. A tic maybe. You gave up that phone awfully easy.”

Briefly, he looks over my head, lost in his thoughts, and following a light snort looks back at me and says, “I’m trying here.”

I grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him toward me as I lift up. With my lips a breath from his I say, “That’s good enough for me.” I press a quick kiss to his soft mouth. “Let’s do this.” I let go of his shirt to grab his hand then pull him behind me to the car.

Our first stop is breakfast then I drive him south toward Cassadaga.

“Seriously?” He motions to the sign that welcomes us to community of psychics, tarot card readers, and spiritual healers and guides.

“Cool, right?” My hair blows around me and he reaches out to snag a strand. I drive through the small downtown and pull into a spot outside a large farmhouse with a neon light flashing from the front window

“I don’t know about cool.” He tugs. “I hope we aren’t stopping here.”

I kill the ignition and tuck my keys in my purse before I face him. “I know you don’t want to be here. I know this is something you would
never
do.
Ever.
But that’s the point. Today is all about trying new things and stepping out of our comfort zone. A day of firsts. Besides, it’s not like pilots don’t have their own superstitions, so just think of this as a little more to the right of that.” I lean forward and gently kiss him, hoping he’ll grasp the moment and live in it.

There’s surprise in his eyes as we cross into new territory—a place where we hang out, kiss, and spent this much time in each other’s company without it leading to sex.

“Come on. Don’t be so unexciting. It’s not like I’m asking you to get a tattoo or do karaoke or sky dive into a volcano. It’s harmless fun. I’ve never done this either and thought, if anything, it would provide for a good laugh.” I elbow him.

He catches my elbow, cupping it in his hand. “You’ve never been to a psychic? Really?” His thumb strokes me.

I pull my arm back, shoving my hands into my hair, forcing them to untangle my curls. I’ll not fall for his diversion tactic no matter how acute my need to touch him is.

“Nope. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure myself out by looking inward. The last thing I was open to was someone else telling me what they saw.”

The hesitation from him is too long, and an ember of anger pops up inside me. It’s good we’re keeping things casual, because I could see us trying to be more and his disinclination always being an issue between us, sparking fights.

I shove his shoulder in hopes of pushing him out of zone.

“Okay,” he says with a curt shake of his head. “What the hell am I thinking?”

“Yay.” I clap my hands with both delight and sarcasm. “I promise this is going to be fun.”

“I doubt you can promise that.” He follows it with a heavy sigh.

“I promise you’ll have fun. Even if it only lasts a small, teensy tiny moment.” After a quick squeeze to his knee, I exit the car and let free the laughter bubbling within me. I wait for him on the sidewalk. His slow shuffle toward me is deliberate but I won’t be baited. When he’s within range, I grab his arm and tug him toward the big farmhouse.

“I hear this woman is the best.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s the reliable source? The internet?”

“Jayne.” I reach for the front door, but he beats me to it and opens it, gesturing for me to precede him.

The house has not been renovated to become an office but instead still holds the original layout. The door opens into a large foyer with stairs and a large desk that sits across the hallway, blocking anyone from trespassing into the back space. Two rooms sit parallel from each other, one is open with seating, and the other is closed off by sliding wood doors.

A hipster-looking guy sits at the front desk. He puts the paperback he’s reading aside and beams at me through his thick-lensed, black-rimmed glasses. Well, at my chest. “Can I help you?” he asks my breasts.

“Yes, we both want a reading. Can you schedule that?”

“Yes,” he says without looking away. “Madame Monica will be available in a few moments. Let me get some information from you. Like your name and phone number.” He pulls a pen from the desk drawer, his smile never wavering.

“I’m Josie and this is Brinn—”

“And why do you need our number?” Brinn steps up behind me and places a territorial hand around my waist.

“Oh...ah...I...well, in case you wanted to step out and get a coffee, I’d then be able to call you when Madame Monica is free.” His eyes go large behind his lenses as he looks between us.

“We’ll wait here. You said it would only be a few minutes anyway, right?” Suddenly, Brinn’s in charge.

He nods.

“Might as well not take the chance by leaving and maybe missing our opportunity with
Madame Monica
.” He steers me from the front desk with an arm still around my waist and pulls me down onto the love seat, forgoing the large couch and individual chairs.

I bump him with my shoulder and arch a brow. “Something bother you, McRae?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says while continuing to stare down the hipster.

Across the hall, the double sliding doors come open with a bang and a woman with crazy curly hair stands in the opening. I assume she’s Madame Monica. She’s not dressed as I imagined a psychic would be; I suppose I expected flowy clothes and several bracelets clanging together with her every movement. Instead, she wears jeans so tight they accentuate her front butt, a leopard print tank top, and sneakers. She’s older and overly tanned.

One might think she’d have known to avoid the sun, as a psychic, but then maybe she knows something the rest of us don’t. The skin around her lips wrinkles in a perpetual pucker, already anticipating the next draw from a cigarette. As if reading my mind, she lifts an electronic cigarette, inhales long and slow before she blows out a puff of vapor smoke that smells like peach Schnapps.

“You two, in here.” With the flick of her long, fleshy index finger, she commands us into action.

My heart leaps into my throat. I really didn’t think this through. What if she sees something I have no business knowing? For the first time in a long while, I’m glad I’m not alone.

Blindly, I reach for Brinn’s hand. Only when mine’s cradled in his do I stand.

“What’s the matter, Ms. Fearless?” he whispers in my ear. “Afraid to know what tomorrow holds?”

“Who wouldn’t be?” I suck it up and tug him toward the room.

After closing the sliding doors with another resounding boom, Madame Monica gestures for us to sit at the cushioned dining chairs, which flank the only other piece of furniture in the room. Cigarette burns scar the large round table and I wonder which the table has seen more of, dinner or the future. The lighting is low and has a yellowish glow.

“So we can do a tarot card reading, I can look at your palm, or I can try to get a spiritual reading. You can also have all three if you want. Who wants to go first?” Madame Monica lights an incense cone and waves the smoke around with her hand. She sits across the table and waits for us to answer.

“Him.” I point.

“Made you come, did she?” Madame Monica’s voice is rough from years of smoking. “I’ll make this as painless as possible for ya.” She grabs Brinn’s right hand and holds it in both of hers.

“For you, we’ll just try and get a simple reading. Just some basic questions, nothing more, and we’ll stay within the limits you’re comfortable. What’s your name?” She closes her eyes and massages her thumbs into his palm.

“Brinn.” He clears his throat.

“Brinn. Yes.” She takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. She does this two more times.

“Brinn,” she says. “It’s not been easy for you but you should be proud of yourself. Damn proud.” She opens her eyes and looks at him. He shifts in his seat.

She continues, “There’ll be little you’ll not be able to overcome. But life will get much easier with the right partner.” She closes her eyes and takes in more deep breaths in the series of three.

Brinn gives me a sideways glance followed by a short-lived smirk.

“Brinn,” she says again as if we wouldn’t know who she is talking too if she doesn’t say his name. “You’re at a fork in the road. Both paths look appealing and rewarding. I see that you’re hoping to be able to do both and use one as a safety net.” She shakes her head. “But what you don’t see is that there is a third path, and if you can find your way to that path, you’ll find all of your dreams will come true. You’ve paid the price with your childhood and the rewards wait for you now. If you choose correctly.”

“Young Jedi.” I finish for her.

She opens her eyes and levels a stare at me. “I beg your pardon?”

“If you choose correctly, young Jedi.” I make my smile megawatt. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

Following the smallest of glares, she returns her attention to Brinn and his hand. “I see an office and on the wall are pictures. Pictures of lots of planes. I see your name on the door and no one else’s.” She gives him a twisted little smile, drops his hand and then pulls out her cigarette, takes a puff, and blows the smoke over her shoulder.

She leans toward him, squints, and says, “It’s OK to show the world what’s written on your heart. Oh, and happy birthday, son.” She squints, her way of smiling I suppose, and pats his hand three times.

I toss back my head and laugh. I couldn’t have scripted a better reading. Unable to resist, I grab his forearm, lean across, and kiss his cheek.

“That was wonderful. I swear I didn’t mention it to anyone that it’s your birthday. My turn, please. My name’s Josie.” I offer up my hand.

Madame Monica stares at me, clearly still displeased with my Jedi comment. Finally she picks up my hand and does the three-breath ritual, her thumbs digging into my palm.

She sits back. “Wow. So much. I’m not quite sure where to start with you because the question isn’t as obvious as it was for your friend.” Again with the breaths before she continues. “Time is irrelevant. You should not put off what is your heart’s truest desire because you think the timing isn’t right.” Madame Monica tilts her head and closes her eyes tighter. There is no sound but our breathing then the psychic sighs heavily and shakes her head.

“I’m sorry. I can’t pick one thing. There’s too much. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing to be worried about, but I’m unable to pinpoint down one specific area to get a good read.” She opens her eyes and stares at me. Inadvertently, I sit up straighter and think of my brother.

“Ah, there it is.” Madame Monica smiles. “This is your path. But know that things are not as they seem. Don’t be like...like a....” Madame Monica tilts her head. “Like a...bunny.” She pats my hand three times and lets go.

“A bunny?” Is she fucking kidding with this shit?

“Yes, a bunny. Rabbit.”

Brinn and I exchange a look. I’m about to ask Madame Monica for further explanation when she takes three long drags from her electric cigarette and blows them out in a puff of rings.

“That is, I think, about all you two can handle. Enjoy your birthday.” She gestures for us to get out.

We say our thanks and are at the door when she says, “And Josie, call your momma. All your questions could be answered. She’s no longer mad.”

“As if,” I say. “If that were true then she can call me.” I pivot and exit the room. After paying hipster doofus at the desk, I grab Brinn’s hand and we walk out.

Our hands fit together like meant-to-be-coupled puzzle pieces. Everything about being with this guy is easy. For the first time I wonder what staying in Daytona would look like.

“Want to walk the strip before we leave?” I gesture to the surrounding stores.

“Sure.” He shrugs.

With my other hand, I take a puff from my imaginary cigarette and raise one brow. “But which way? There’s a fork in the road but there are three paths.” He steers me toward the stores closest to us.

“Do you see anything in my future about bunnies?” He waves his hands in front of his face, pretending to whisk away the imaginary smoke.

I drop the act. “What the hell does that mean? Stop being a bunny? What a crock of shit.”

“Were you thinking of posing for Playboy?”

“No.” I let go of his hand to swat his arm. “Maybe it means I should stop having sex.” I purse my lips, trying to hold back the laughter.

“That’s just wrong.” He shakes his head emphatically. “She’s stupid. No one should ever stop having sex and certainly not you. Ever. And never stop having sex with me.”

“Maybe I’m going to use up all of my sex drive and ten years from now when I’ll really need it, I’ll be flat broke. Washed up. Dried up.” I try to sound panicky for added emphasis.

“I think she didn’t know what to say there at the end. She made that up.”

“Maybe she’s crazy? What was that business about showing the world what’s written on your heart?” I throw the fake cigarette to the ground and grind it with my toe. Brinn laughs and wraps an arm around my shoulder as we cross the street.