Dread pools in my stomach. “Yes and no,” I croak. I clear my throat. “It was black. I couldn’t see anything. But it felt … final.”
“I don’t understand,” Aunt Meg says. “What do you mean, ‘It was black’?”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand either. I’ve never had a vision like it before.”
Matt chooses that moment to burst back into the room, his arms full of attractively wrapped packages.
“Who’s ready to open presents?” he asks cheerily.
We all turn silently to stare. But Matt, totally oblivious to the tension in the room, dumps the pile on the coffee table and retakes his seat.
Reluctantly, we return to the festivities, not getting to revisit the vision. When Auntie Betty leaves, I hug her same as I always do, vowing to see her again sooner than the year it had been this time. I’ve been distracted, but I promise myself I won’t let that happen again. Family is more important than anything.
Four weeks later, while I’m in class, I get a call from Aunt Meg that I return on my way back to the apartment I share with Matt.
“Hey,” I greet her. “You didn’t leave a message. What’s up?”
“Oh, baby girl,” Aunt Meg sobs. “It’s Betty.”
I stop in my tracks. “No,” I protest, the blackness and the feeling that went with it instantly rushing back. And I just know. Auntie Betty is gone.
“She was crossing a busy street near the Trevi Fountain when she was struck by a car,” Aunt Meg says. “She didn’t even make it to the hospital.”
I sink to my knees on the sidewalk. No. No, no, no, no, no.
“Yes,” Aunt Meg says sadly, making me realize I’d said the words out loud. “They’re shipping her body back for the funeral. You’ll come home?”
I nod numbly, then realize she can’t see me. “Of course,” I whisper. A sob catches in my throat as it hits home. “I’m sorry, Aunt Meg. I’m so, so sorry.”
“I know. It’s unbelievable. There are no words,” she agrees, her sniffling indicating she’s still crying.
“No, I mean, I’m sorry,” I stress through sobs. “I Saw it. I Saw the black. The finality. It was a warning. I should’ve told her not to go, I should’ve known, I —”
“Stop,” Aunt Meg interrupts in an uncharacteristically harsh tone. “You know better than that, Catherine Jane. You know that’s not how your visions work. This isn’t your fault.”
I shake my head, tears pouring down my face as my bottom hits the pavement. I can feel people skirting around me. I can feel the cold, damp concrete under my jeans. But I don’t care about any of it as despair fills me. I don’t even have the will to argue, though I know that will come later.
“I don’t know anything,” I say sadly. “But I’ll come home. Now. I can’t be here. Have you told Matt yet?”
“I called, but he hasn’t called back yet.”
“I’ll tell him then. He should be home,” I say with a loud sniff, mustering up the energy to pull myself together.
“You should both call me once he knows, okay?” Aunt Meg pleads.
“Of course,” I assure her. “Talk to you soon.”
Once we’ve ended the call, I trek the remaining few blocks home. As soon as I’m inside, I see I’m right. Matt is sitting on the couch and looks up at my arrival.
Tears fill my eyes, but no words come. He rises, clearly sensing my distress. When I’m this upset he can’t ignore me. I hold out a hand to let him use his retrocognition to hear the words straight from Aunt Meg. Because right now I’m barely holding it together, and there’s no way I could voice the awful truth.
As he pulls the memory, a decision forms in my heart. Not being able to do anything about my visions of a cheating boyfriend were one thing. But Seeing the death of a woman who was basically another mother figure to me and not being able to do anything about it? It’s unthinkable. I’m not going to ignore my visions anymore. But I’m also not going to accept them. I’m going to find a way to change them. Because if I can’t, what’s the point?
Chapter One
CJ
He’s got man boobs. How on earth did I end up on a date with a guy who has man boobs? I tried not to pay attention for the first hour, but as he drones on about his boring job, it’s all I can think about. Not for the first time I wonder why I let Aunt Meg convince me to give online dating a try. It’s not like anyone ever represents themselves honestly. I mean, there’s no checkbox for “man boobs,” or “I secretly weigh four hundred pounds,” or “I’ve got the most boring job on the planet that I don’t know how to shut up about.”
You’d think I’d have learned to be suspicious of the headshot-only profiles with the body type “a few extra pounds.” I’m so going to give Aunt Meg an earful, and hopefully it will get her off my back long enough to have some peace.
Also, not for the first time, I wish I had a close female friend to rely on for the escape phone call. You know, when they call you before you waste too much of your life on the wrong guy.
Internalizing a sigh, I realize I’m going to have to get myself out of this one. Thankfully, we’d only agreed to meet for drinks, and it is a Tuesday night.
I continue humoring him as he goes on, running my eyes over his boring blond hair and boring flat brown eyes. Recalling that he didn’t look quite so boring until he opened his mouth. After a few more “mhms” and “yeahs,” I’m able to find a natural break in the conversation.
“Wow, Kevin, that’s great,” I say flatly, followed by a dramatic glance at my phone. “Oh gosh, look at the time!”
The portly Kevin glances at his ridiculously expensive watch. Show-off. “It’s not even nine p.m.” His tone is annoyed. Of course it is. Because why wouldn’t I want to sit here and listen to him prattle on for another hour, even though there is zero attraction?
But I’m always the “nice girl,” so instead of saying all the snarky things running through my head, I give him a shrug and a tight smile. “I’m an early riser, what can I say?”
“Well, apology accepted,” he drawls. I can’t help blanching. Huh? I didn’t apologize. On purpose. Because I have nothing to apologize for. My obvious distaste for his response is lost on him, as he continues. “I’ll take you out to dinner this Friday. Then we’ll have plenty of time to keep getting to know each other.”
My eyebrows scrunch together. That wasn’t even a question. And speaking of questions, he didn’t ask me a single one, just rambled about himself without end. So, add clueless and pushy to his list of traits. Ugh.
“As tempting as that offer is,” I say, barely controlling the sarcasm in my voice, “I think I’ll pass. I don’t want to waste your time, and I’m just not feeling a connection here.”
His mouth opens and closes comically a few times. “But I bought you a drink!” he finally sputters.
And I’m done. I rise, pulling a twenty from my purse and dropping it on the table. It’ll cover the single glass of red wine I had twice over. “And now you didn’t. Not that buying a drink gives you any right to tell a woman she has to go on another date with you. Bye now.”