“I only met Mary yesterday, so you’ve got the advantage.”
Dottie’s gaze shifts to the crystals splayed on the table. “Jace, dear, would you slide those over to me? They practically jumped out of their container,” she says with obvious delight, “which means I simply must do a crystal reading of your auras.”
“Dottie,” Mary finally says, “we don’t need our auras read.”
“Speak for yourself,” I say, flashing her a grin. Trying again to get her to relax. “I’ve been in Asheville three years and still haven’t had my aura read.”
Dottie lowers onto the other side of the booth, forcing Mary to scoot over and make room for her. If her discomfort is noticed, it isn’t mentioned. Instead, Dottie picks up a pale blue crystal and holds it up to her eye as she stares at me. She shakes her head in consternation, then picks up a pale yellow one. The whole spectacle should look ridiculous, but it doesn’t.
As she lowers the yellow crystal, she lets out a soft sigh. “Your aura is tinged with sadness and pain. You’ve been through so much trauma in your life. I’m sorry.”
I freeze, wondering how this woman could know anything about me, before I remember this is a parlor trick, a gimmick for entertaining tourists.
She looks at me through a pink crystal next, and whatever she sees—presumably a pink version of me—makes her brighten. “Oh, but I can see it’s easing, and a new joy is taking root.” She lowers the rock. “It’s still quite new and vulnerable, so be careful, Jace. Don’t let it fade away.”
Now it’s my turn to want to flee or hide.
Mary shoots me an apologetic look.
“Now you, Mary,” Dottie says, turning to face her. Only she doesn’t use a crystal to look at her—she just cups Mary’s cheek and looks deeply into her eyes. “Glenn lacks imagination, the foolish boy, but you have a very bright future ahead of you—full of love and happiness. You just need to let it in.”
Mary squeaks out, “How do you know that? You didn’t use a crystal or tea leaves.”
Dottie gently pats her cheek. “Because I know your heart, dear, and that’s the most important knowledge of all. Now, if you need anyone to watch your delightful son, you let me know. I’m always available.” She lets Mary’s hand drop and gets to her feet. Smiling at both of us, she says, “Your lunches will be right out.” And she walks away before we can object that we haven’t ordered anything. Then again, I have a feeling she knows that.
“What just happened?” I ask with a nervous laugh. Dottie’s aura reading has left me feeling naked and vulnerable, but then I suppose Mary feels the same way.
“I’m so sorry,” she says in a gush. “Dottie’s an old family friend, and I’ve been meaning to see her. When you mentioned meeting in person, this place popped into my head, but I should have known she’d pull something like this…”
“Read our auras?”
“And our tea leaves, and possibly our palms.” She shudders. “And who knows what she’ll send out for lunch. I think she actually buys into all that woo-woo stuff.”
“My grandmother believed in tea readings,” I say. “But she couldn’t read them herself. She had a neighbor lady do it.”
She tilts her head, studying me. Her face and neck aren’t as red now, but a tinge of pink remains. I have an insane urge to reach up and cup her cheek like Dottie did.
“Do you believe in tea readings?” she asks. It’s obvious she doesn’t, but there’s no condescension or amusement in her tone.
I shrug. “Nana did, and whether the readings were actually accurate or she made them fit her preconceptions, I’ll never know.” The corners of my mouth tip up. “But I guess that doesn’t really answer your question. Let’s just say I’m a skeptic.”
“So you didn’t come to Asheville for the”—she waves her hand in a circle—“the woo-woo?”
“No,” I say, grinning through an uncomfortable surge of memories. “I came for the construction jobs.”
She nods. “I suppose that makes sense. There’s a lot more construction here now than before I moved away for college.”
“So you left for college and never came back?”
“Until a month ago,” she says, playing idly with the pink crystal. I suspect she doesn’t realize she’s doing it, and the sight of her fingers caressing it sends a rush of blood through me. “I considered moving back after my parents died in a car accident. My youngest sister was still in high school, but our middle sister was living at home, so it made sense for her to take care of Molly.” Her shrug is belied by the way she averts her gaze. “Besides, I would have had to drop out of school. It wouldn’t have been right to uproot Molly and drag her to Charlottesville.”
It all seems practical, yet I can tell there’s more to it. I don’t press, even if I’m curious. “My father died when I was twenty, but my sister was older. Losing him was hard, and it had a profound impact on me. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to lose both my parents at the same time.”
Her gaze drops to the table, and she jerks her hand away from the crystal, as if burned. “It was the most devastating experience of my life.”
“Even more than your husband walking out?” The question is out before I can stop myself, and I’d give anything to reel it back in.
Her head jerks up, fire in her eyes. “How did you—”
“Butterfly Buddies,” I say apologetically. “They give us information about the child we’re matched with so we know what’s going on in their life.” I grimace. “I’m sorry. That was way out of line.”
Her lips flatten, and she studies the rock again. “No. Glenn walking out wasn’t nearly as earth-shattering for me as losing my parents. It was as if someone had finally opened the door of a house that had been locked for years, and fresh air swept in. I could breathe again.” Surprise fills her eyes. “I’ve never admitted that to anyone before.”
I give her a half smile.
“It feels wrong to be glad about it,” she says. “Aidan doesn’t understand why Glenn left, and I can’t find it in me to tell him his father didn’t want him anymore.” Her voice breaks, and tears fill her eyes. “Glenn didn’t say it in so many words, but he considers him defective now. And having a defective child isn’t good for his image.”
Her words stoke my anger at her worthless ex, but I take slow breaths to rein it in. “He’s better off without him, but I understand your predicament. Aidan’s a smart kid. He’ll see it for what it is—abandonment.”
She gasps, as if caught off guard, and then shakes her head woefully. “Sorry. I know that’s what he did, but it’s such a brutal word.”
“Agreed. What he did was brutal.” My voice softens. “I thought you would be a fan of the truth.”
A derisive chuckle escapes her lips. “I used to think so too. Lately…” She shrugs, but it looks more like an act of defeat than indifference. “Is it lying if you do it to yourself?”
I feel her opening to me, unfurling like a flower, and God, I don’t want to do anything to interrupt this or to fuck it up. But this isn’t why I asked to see her. The deeper we get into conversation, the harder it will be to tell her about my past.