Page 60 of Second Chance Ex
I top up my glass, taking a big swig to try and quell the unease swirling around in my belly. But then as if on cue, I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder and I turn tofind Elma the fortune teller behind me, a wistful smile wrinkling her weathered face.
“Oh, hi Elma?” I force a smile. “Did you… need something?”
“I have a message for you, my dear,” Elma says as she reaches for my hand, taking it between both of hers.
A message? Immediately, I assume someone put her up to this, and I spear Madison with a knowing glance, but she quickly shakes her head, eyes wide as they flit from me to Elma and back again.
“Maybe you’re pregnant too?” Heather waggles her eyebrows suggestively, flashing me a knowing grin.
Honestly, it’s as if she’s just slapped me, and I have to mentally collect my composure, reminding myself that she doesn’t know—no one knows, and Heather’s words were said in jest and nothing more.
With a hard swallow, I turn back to the old woman and give her my full, albeit dubious, attention. “A message?”
Elma cocks her head to the side, her smile turning sad, and I don’t know how or why, I just feel like in this very moment I know precisely what she’s trying to tell me, and despite the wine I’ve consumed, I’m suddenly stone-cold sober.
Tearing my hand from Elma’s, I force a tight-lipped smile at her, and at those close by who are all watching on with piqued curiosity. I indicate for Elma to lead the way back to her card table, far enough away that it’s out of earshot of everyone, and I follow her all the while my stomach roils with the foreboding sense of dread.
I take the seat across from Elma and, right now, despite the nervous trepidation swirling in my chest, I still have my doubts. This woman doesn’t know me.I’ve never met her before in my life. She isn’t even from Rosewood Valley; according to her Marketplace ad she’s from Lake County. How the hell would this little, unassuming old lady know anything about me, let alone my past. No one knows. Well, no one except Joey, of course.
Under the weight of Elma’s shrewd gaze, I shift in my seat, clear my throat, glance up to the sky while she drags her fingers through the random bowl of white sand in front of her. What does the sand even do? I have no idea what’s happening right now. I’m so confused.
“You’re sad,” Elma says after a minute or two of sand-fingering. “You try to hide it, keep it hidden inside, mask it with indifference.” Her gaze momentarily dips to my glass on the table. “And wine.”
I swear I almost laugh.Tell me something I don’t know, Elma. Besides, who isn’t ravaged by sadness nowadays. I have thousands of dollars’ worth of student loans I doubt I’ll ever be able to afford to pay back. A mortgaged house that should probably be condemned yet still cost close to half-a-million dollars. And no matter what I do, my ass seems to be getting bigger by the week. I’m getting the distinct feeling that Elma is nothing more than a grifter dressed up as one of The Golden Girls; I almost get up and walk away. Almost.
“I’ve never had a sense this strong before,” Elma continues, more to herself than to me. She looks down at the bowl of sand, her forehead bunched in apparent turmoil. If she is a phony, she’s a damn good actress, I’ll give her that much.
“She’s with you.” Elma smiles at me, her voice barely a whisper.
A painful lump collects at the back of my throat, a shiver running down my spine. “She?” My voice is all rough and croaky, thick with an emotion I wasn’t expecting.
Elma nods. “Your little girl.”
It feels as if everything around me comes to a sudden and obliterating stop. The sound of the party behind me fades, the birds stop chirping, the branches in the trees above no longer rustle from the soft breeze blowing through their leaves. It’s as if the world has ceased turning.
My cheeks flame, my chest tightens as a million thoughts race through my mind all at once.
A little girl.Mylittle girl.
Painful tears sting my eyes and my hands start to shake; I quickly ball them into fists and tuck them beneath the table, forcing myself to keep it the fuck together.
“She’s been with you all this time.” Elma glances up to the sky for a brief moment, her gaze narrowed as if in contemplation. “Almost three years.”
Surprised, I knock over my glass, wine sloshing onto the table and my dress. But I don’t react. Instead, I just sit there, staring at this woman. She can’t be lying. No one knows this. How would she?
“She’s keeping you safe. A guardian angel.” Elma grins. “And she wants you to let go of the pain and the hurt so you will be happy again.”
This is too much. I swipe at the hot tear I feel hit my cheek. I can’t do this. Not here. Not now. Not ever. Definitely not with what feels like everyone watching. I push back in my chair and stand, offering Elma awavering smile. And, with a muttered apology, I turn and walk away.
All conversation occurring around the table comes to a sudden stop, every set of eyes curiously staring directly at me.
Madison stands from her chair calling after me, but all I can do is keep my head down and hurry across the back yard, directly inside, away from my happily pregnant, soon-to-be-married best friend, away from Elma who knows far too much, and away from the ghost that has haunted me for the last three years.
I’m literally sick with nerves. I’ve vomited twice this morning. I think it’s something about my official first day as a student teacher. This is it. Graduating college is dependent on this. No matter how hard I’ve worked, I do not feel even close to prepared enough.
Sitting in my car outside Ford Elementary School, I force myself to eat a few graham crackers in the hope that I can at least keep them down. I’d die if I was sick or passed out in the middle of my very first class. I take a sip of the chamomile tea I brought with me from the dorms; it seems to be doing the trick since the nausea has subsided enough that I no longer want to retch with every morsel of cracker I consume.
Scrolling through my phone, I intentionally avoid my messages because it’s only disappointing. Today is my first official day as a studentteacher, and I haven’t even received a good luck text message from my boyfriend.
