If I really wanted to give myself a headache, I can think back to what exactly it was that put Nan’s life in danger. I wouldn’t have dripped water up the stairs, making them slick, if I hadn’t been so rattled by my talk with Taryn. I wouldn’t have gotten rattled by talking to Taryn if I hadn’t met her on the boardwalk the day I was supposed to save Emma. I wouldn’t have gone fishing if I hadn’t lost my job and had nothing better to do. I wouldn’t have lost my job if it hadn’t been for Taryn.
Taryn, with her innocent angel face, had already wrought havoc on my life. That was enough of a reason to forget about her.
Instead, though my mind was again screaming with visions being threaded out and replaced, the one thing it kept hitching on was her. Nan was safe now. Taryn had the power to make me feel normal somehow. Being with her felt right. And she was the only person in the world who knew what I had. So what if she’d somehow deluded herself into believing her grandmother caused it?
Maybe her grandmother had caused it. Maybe Taryn was telling the truth. Why would she lie about that? What else did she know?
I sat in the hospital room with Nan while her cast set, itching to get out of there and find some answers. The vision of her at the bottom of the steps was nothing more than an image from a vivid nightmare. It was realer than if I’d just imagined it, but now when I thought of her death, I saw her back in the old recliner, dozing peacefully into oblivion. The thought was a pile of bricks off my chest, yeah, but my hands shook and my mouth tasted sour, thinking of what new bricks would be laid down, one by one, as the images settled. Right now, all I could see was this: red velvet, LUVR, powdered sugar. I heard a tick-tick-ticking-ticking sound.
I really hoped my new future didn’t suck.
Nan sat on the hospital bed, looking so fragile and small in the fluorescent light. Her bones were delicate twigs, so it was no surprise I’d broken her arm in two places. She needed one of those giant casts that covered everything from wrist to underarm. It looked mega-uncomfortable. “Don’t worry yourself, honey bunny,” she said to me. “If you can just help me pick tomatoes when we get home? That was what I was heading out to do when …”
“Oh. Yeah. No problem.”
She put her hand on mine and patted it. I was supposed to be there to soothe her, but as always, she was the one doing the soothing.
“Nan, it was—you were going to—” I started to explain, but she raised a finger to shut me up. She’d come to accept our weirdness without question.
“I understand,” she said. “No explanation needed.”
The cycling still whirred through my brain a mile a minute, making all the outcomes impossible to see. I guess it was pretty obvious to Nan that something big was up, considering I was resting my head in my hands, massaging it to lessen the pain. I would bet a thousand dollars that back home, my mom was doing the exact same thing.
“Why does Mom never want to talk about Dad?” I asked.
“Too painful for her,” she said, sticking out her foot to rein in her massive leather purse on the floor. Her first attempt to hook it failed, so I grabbed it for her. She reached inside and pulled out a few hard candies in yellow wrappers. They were covered in specks of dust like they had been there a while. From the time I was a kid, she had a never-ending supply of those candies on hand. I think I sucked on them continuously from when I was in preschool until I learned they would put me in dentures by age fifty. I stopped eating them, then. Seemed like every pleasure in my life got sucked away by this “curse.” “I need a butterscotch,” Nan said. “Want one?”
“No. You didn’t know him?” I asked, already knowing the answer. I’d asked her before. When she murmured yes, I said, “I thought he was the reason we’re like this. That’s what she told me whenever I asked. I would say, ‘Mom, why can we see the future?’, and she would say, ‘Maybe it has something to do with your father.’ But she wouldn’t say anything else, so I didn’t know what to think. I thought that his blood poisoned us or something. And so I’d ask you, and you would tell me that my father was a good man in a bad situation. She wanted me to hate him so I would accept he was the reason for this and wouldn’t ask any questions. But you didn’t think that was fair, right?”
She removed her bifocals and massaged her eyes. Without her glasses, she looked like a completely different person. “Wow. You’ve certainly been thinking a lot about this, Nick.”
It wasn’t a direct answer, but I could tell she agreed with my assessment. “Today, someone told me something.…”
She stared at me. “Told you what?”
“I was told this fortune-teller on the boardwalk made us this way. Is that true?”
She looked at me for a long moment. Finally she pressed her lips together. “Could you scratch my left shoulder blade? I have an awful itch there.”
I stood up, reached behind the pillow she was propped against, and scratched her back. The line of her shoulder blade was so sharp it could cut through her T-shirt.
“The weirdest thing happened when I shook her hand, though. Just being near her, I feel calmer,” I said. “But when I touched her hand, I could think clearly. I couldn’t see the future. I felt—I think I felt what normal was like.”
“Whose hand? The fortune-teller?”
“No. This girl. Her granddaughter. So it made me think that this fortune-teller knows something.” I rubbed my eyes. They felt sore. “Also. It’s crazy, but I think I’m in love with her.”
“Who? The fortune-teller?”
I sighed. “The girl, Nan. The girl. My whole future is tied to hers now, I think. I feel like I know her. Like, really well. I know her favorite color. I know about the birthmark on her—” I stopped. Too much information. Nan just smiled at me as if she understood the whole thing. “But ever since I met her, things have started to turn bad.”
Nan cocked her head. “Bad?”
“I can’t explain it, but the future is changed. Monumentally. It started with meeting that girl. It led to you falling down the stairs, but I get the feeling there’s more. Mom and I haven’t made it out yet, but something is just wrong. The girl is going to hurt me. Maybe she’s like a drug. Bad for me, but I’m already addicted. Probably because I think she has the answers to why I’m like this, or because she’s beautiful, or because I’m stupid and I like asking for trouble.”
Nan shrugged. “Maybe a little of all those things. But how do you know that she’s responsible for all that?”
“I don’t, but I also don’t know if a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil can set off a tornado in Texas,” I muttered, then threw up my hands. “She may be indirectly responsible, but I don’t know anything for sure. As usual.”
“Look, honey, I don’t know what’s true anymore. Your mother used to be a very free spirit. Funny to think that when she was your age, I had trouble keeping her home at night. The day she graduated from high school was the day she told me she was pregnant with you. She was so happy. She had such plans. She was going to marry your father and move inland and start a curio shop. And then, one day, in the summer, I remember it so clearly … you know all this, though.”
I nodded. “This thing couldn’t have just happened to us, though, right? There’s got to be a reason.”
She nodded sadly. “I wish I knew, honey bunny.”
I thought about it some more as my mind slowed to a dull thrumming. Some things did just happen. People developed weird diseases. Bridges crumbled. The good died young. Crap like that. And nothing, nobody caused it. All my life, I’d never dug too deep because I thought our curse was likely one of those things. And maybe it was.
But if there was a reason for it, I had to find out.
And I had a good idea where to start.
I’d wanted to seek Taryn out the minute I got home, but by the time Nan’s cast was set and we found someone willing to drive us back to Seaside, it was after ten. We didn’t have any money for a cab, so one of the orderlies who had just gotten off work offered to drive us. The guy had a shifty look to him, like a snake, and a vanity license plate that read LUVR. Plus his ancient Pinto smelled like pot, but Nan was so drugged up she kept beaming at him and calling him a “nice young man.”
She also wouldn’t stop muttering to me about how the tomatoes needed to come in. She was probably so out of it she didn’t realize how late it was. But I went outside with a bucket and a flashlight anyway and picked as many as I could from the little plot of earth by the side of the garage. I knew I’d have other things I wanted to do in the morning.
All night long, I had visions of Emma. With everything else going on, I’d managed to bury most of the thoughts of her that were lingering in my brain. But when the lights went down and I lay in bed, they surfaced like jellyfish. All I saw was a once beautiful face, bloated and misshapen. I could see those cold blue lips. In my vision, her lips opened and this eerie whisper came out: Why? Why? When the light of day finally streamed through my window, I saw these things: smiling potato, ugly blue dog, fingertip kiss, bad lemonade. The constant sound of clicking, like teeth chattering, felt buried as deep within me as my heartbeat, and when I shook my head it only seemed to get louder. I could smell something sweet in the air, like sugar doughnuts, so when I got downstairs I was confused to find Nan cooking eggs and bacon.
Two days had passed since Emma’s accident, and I knew those night visions were my subconscious, telling me I needed to go the Reeses’ house, to offer condolences. Even if they hated me. Whatever. It was the civil thing to do.
I remembered that Taryn had said the Reeses lived next door to her. So after breakfast, I rode my bike to Lafayette, where I found a bungalow near Taryn’s house. I saw a lady in a pink terry housecoat, absently watering a bunch of dying flowers in front of the bungalow. Her aim was totally off; most of the water was falling on the white pebbles and rushing down the driveway, into the gutter. I knew that had to be Mrs. Reese.
I stopped in front of her, not doing a very good job of ignoring that Taryn’s house was right next door. It was closed up and looked empty. I wondered where she was, what she was doing, when I saw the smiling potato again. I shook it from my head and concentrated on the frail lady who was now staring at me. “Um. Mrs. Reese?”
She nodded. She looked like she was my mom’s age, and her blond hair was in a tangle on her head, as if she hadn’t run a brush through it in days, which was like my mom, too. She still had a tan, though. She’d probably loved the beach up until two days ago. “Yes?”
“I’m Nick Cross. I was one of the lifeguards on duty when your daughter … um.” I couldn’t bring myself to say more. Her expression never changed, as if she wasn’t even listening. “I just wanted to say I was sorry.”
“I remember you.” She looked down at the flowers, and I braced myself for the attack. But it never came. I sighed with relief before she spoke, when I realized what she was going to say. “It’s not your fault. I only wish you had been there instead of the other one.” Her voice was fragile. “He shouldn’t have been there.”
I knew that. I knew that, and should have said something to someone. But I didn’t. What she didn’t know was that I was responsible. I stood there, trying to think of something else to say that could be of comfort, but guilt ate away the words. The You Wills just had me fumbling around for a few moments and turning awkwardly away, so very me, even though I’d been envisioning this confrontation for the past few hours. I’d come up with better words, then, but now they failed me. I caught my eyes trailing once again to Taryn’s house. “I live on Seventh. If there’s anything I can do, I just wanted to—”
“Would you like to come in? Have some lemonade?”
I jumped back to reality and planted my eyes on Mrs. Reese. She ran a suspicious eye over me and pointed inside her house. The You Wills had me halfway down the block. “I …” Lemonade. I took her daughter from her, and she wanted to give me lemonade. “All right.”
I followed her inside, lamely, all the while thinking that I’d rather be anyplace else. She led me through the kitchen, which was painted a cheerful lemon yellow but still seemed sad, because it smelled like rotting garbage. There were drawings covering every bit of real estate on the fridge, each one signed by the little girl. I swallowed as I passed them, hoping the next room would be free of memories of her. But it wasn’t. I nearly tripped over a puppet-show stage in the living room, and when Mrs. Reese sat me down on a worn lime-green sofa, I immediately faced a wall of photos. Dozens of Emmas, baby Emmas with little hair and no teeth, toddler Emmas in overalls, little-girl Emmas in pretty dresses and pigtails … they all stared at me, smiling. My throat was sticky and dry by the time Mrs. Reese placed a glass in my hands. I lifted it to my lips. The lemonade tasted strange, like artificial sweetener. Emma’s mom noticed my stare, and her eyes trailed over to the picture wall, but for only a moment. Then she looked down. “Where did you say you lived?”
“On Seventh.” I pointed, but realized that where I was pointing was in the opposite direction. “As I was saying, if you need help with anything, I’m happy to—”
“Seventh. Where you were lifeguard?”
I nodded.
She nodded almost imperceptibly and sat down next to me. I could tell she had other things on her mind because she sat uncomfortably close and I had to move over. “I loved that beach most of all. My grandparents had a house there. That’s why we went there. I know it’s a drive, and why should we drive when there’s a beach just up the street? But we got badges for Seaside Park because of the family atmosphere. It’s not as crowded, too, so I thought Emma would be safer.”
She trailed off, and in those silent moments my stomach twisted and turned until I thought something would snap. I really had nothing to say after that, because I hated myself. She thought Emma would be safer at my beach. And what had I done? A thousand Emmas watched me, silently smiling, like she enjoyed seeing me unnerved. The biggest one was a portrait of the whole family. It looked pretty recent. Emma’s father had gray hair and looked much older than her mother. Emma was sitting close to a boy who had to be around my age. “You have a son?” I asked.
“Yes. He was away at college. He left last week for Penn State. But he’s coming back for the service.” She smiled at the picture of him. I noticed she had a crumpled tissue in her palm. “Emma was very special to him. They did everything together. She was devastated when he left for school. And now … well, my son’s the one who is devastated. He blames himself for not being here.”
I looked at the glass of lemonade. It was still full. “I don’t want to take up any of your time. Just wanted to offer help, if you need it. I’ll give you my phone number.”
She got a pen and paper and I quickly scribbled my information on it. She whispered thank you as she led me to the door. By then, the gnawing guilt in the pit of my stomach had done a number on my insides. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to go home and crawl into bed and die.
Suddenly I heard the tick-tick-tick of the gears of a ten-speed bicycle, and a flash of blond hair and pale white skin whirred by. I jerked my head up in time to see Taryn round the corner onto Ocean, heading toward the Heights. Immediately the You Wills told me to follow her, but that was a given. I couldn’t not. Even if she was bad for me, I needed to find out what she knew.
Mrs. Reese came out and started to water some other patch of asphalt while I took my bike and followed. All the while, the tingles popped up on my shoulders, like it was so obvious I was chasing after my doom.
Taryn really was going into the heart of Sleazeside. I should have known that. She biked furiously toward the boardwalk with a little bag slung over her shoulder, wearing an oversized white T-shirt with a giant smiling potato on the back. It said:
MUGSY’S
BASKET O’ FRIES
BEST FRIES ON THE BOARDWALK
CASINO PIER—SEASIDE HEIGHTS, NJ
When I biked up to the boardwalk, it should have been no surprise to hear her voice calling behind me, “How may I help you, sir? Basket o’ Fries?”
I turned toward the Mugsy’s stand. She was standing next to the big smiling potato, wearing a ridiculous paper sailor’s hat and grinning like she wasn’t ashamed to be seen in it.
Crap. I hadn’t expected her to notice me first. I thought maybe I could just … watch her from afar. Stalk her. Still, it was a thrill to have her smiling at me.
I tried to turn and navigate toward her but there were kids having a water-gun fight and I nearly took them both out with my bike. I weaved my way around them, trying to look swift, but I accidentally jabbed a pedal into my shin. Pain sliced through my leg. Fighting back tears, I managed, “You work here?”
You would think that being able to tell the future, I could have come up with something less moronic to say. She just giggled. “Funnel cake? Please let me clog your arteries.”
“I didn’t know you worked up here.”
She shrugged. “It’s a job. All my friends back home were so jealous when they heard I was going to work up at the Heights. They thought I was going to have a boyfriend named Guido who talks like dis.” She sounded a little like the Godfather and made a gesture like she was kissing her fingers, like the guy in the pasta sauce commercials does before he says “Delicioso!”
“This is Jersey,” I said. “Not Italy.”
She shrugged. “Okay, so my accent’s not the best. But you know what I mean.”
“I know that your friends watch too much reality television.”
She bit her lip. “Aw, who cares what they think, anyway? They’re not my friends anymore.” Then she smiled and held out a crinkle-cut. “Mmm. Hungry?”
I stared at her as she sucked the fry into her mouth. I didn’t know if she meant to be seductive, but she was. My heart thudded, and it wasn’t for the grease. Everything about her was putting me in an early grave. I thought about those lips, the lips I was, at least the last time I checked, destined to kiss. The breeze coming from the ocean did nothing to calm the heat in my face.
I guess I wasn’t doing a good job at hiding it, because she crossed her arms and asked, “What?”
“Oh. Nothing.” It wasn’t like I could tell her the truth. There were about three hundred flies swarming on the whitewashed wooden counter, so to change the subject, I said, “Has the health inspector been to this place lately?”
It didn’t work. She said, “You were totally undressing me with your eyes.”
I thought about the birthmark. Now I felt the heat flushing across my cheeks. “No, I was …” In my eyes, you were already undressed.
She cleared her throat. “Did you come to find out more about my grandmother? About what I said?”
I ran my fingers over the counter. There was a splotch of ketchup there, dried and crusty, that didn’t move when I touched it. “Nah.” Yeah. “Where is the charming lady’s booth, by the way?”
She pointed her chin toward the next booth. There was the red velvet I’d seen in my visions. It wasn’t totally a tent; it was a regular storefront, but the thick lush fabric lined the windows and door. There was a sign above the entrance:
READINGS BY BABE,
BIBLIOMANCER EXTRAORDINAIRE.
I stared at it. “Babe? That’s her name?”
Taryn nodded.
“What happened to something mystical, like Madame Paulina or the Great Zoltaire? Babe? That sounds like a little pig.”
“It’s short for Erzsebet or something. Most people can’t pronounce it. It’s Hungarian.”
“It kind of ruins the mystique. I don’t know if I can trust a bibliomancer named Babe.”
She shrugged. “Fine. Your loss. I thought maybe you wanted to find out why you are the way you are.”
“I do. But I doubt Babe over there has the answers.” I hitched a thumb in that general direction and checked out her digs. There was a neon sign that said WORLD FAMOUS and a paper sign that said: SPECIAL: PALM READINGS $10 TODAY ONLY! It was so sun-faded and covered in cobwebs it had probably been up there for years. The red curtain was open a sliver, but all I could see was blackness. Looked like a closet. Or like a place you went into if you wanted to get mugged. “Has she ever read your palm?”
Taryn nodded. “Yeah. Plenty of times.”
“Was she ever right?”
“Oh, well …” She smiled a little. “Of course. Always.”
I couldn’t tell if she was fooling with me. I looked at the placard outside, which said: GUESS YOUR WATE OR YOUR FATE! COME IN AND GIVE BABE A TRY. I smirked. “She spelled ‘weight’ wrong.”
“Okay, so she’s not book smart. But she knows things.”
I stepped a little closer to the booth and smelled some nasty spicy incense. Gagging, I was about to turn away when I noticed a smaller sign, only the size of a business card, in the other window. ABSOLUTELY NO REVERSALS. I pointed to it. “What does that mean? Reversal of what?”
“If you meet me after my shift ends, I’ll show you. Okay?”
I got that feeling again, that familiar feeling that always seemed to happen around her, like being torn down the middle. I needed to run away. Fast. And yet I found myself nodding. What the hell was I getting myself into?
She leaned forward, about to speak, when I felt a presence behind me. “How can I help you? Basket o’ Fries?” she asked cheerily, as a man in a wifebeater sauntered up to the counter. He placed his order and she got it for him. He was kind of an idiot, asking for ketchup and salt and napkins when they were right there in front of him, but Taryn helped him out, the courteous smile never leaving her face. When he started to walk away she turned to me and opened her mouth to speak, but I suddenly saw the guy coming back to ask for her phone number.
“What time is your boyfriend coming to pick you up?” I asked in a really loud voice.
She stared at me, her mouth half-open. “Um.”
“You know, Butch? To take you to the STD clinic?” I motioned to the guy, who was waiting nearby.
She looked over my shoulder at him for a moment, then said, “Um. Four?”
“Cool.” I looked over my shoulder. Idiot was meandering away.
Her eyes widened. “What was that all about? Was he … did you …”
“He was going to ask for your number.”
“Oh. Really?” She pressed her lips together, flustered. “Well, I could have just told him no.”
“I know that’s hard for you.”
“No it’s not. It’s—” She wrinkled her nose. “What do you know about me, anyway?” She got even redder as she thought about it. “You know a lot about me, don’t you?”
I nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“What else do you know about me?” She seemed sort of angry. “No, forget it. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“You’re angry?”
She shrugged. “It’s not your fault, is it? But it’s really weird.” Then she smiled. “You are right. It is hard for me to say no sometimes. When I like someone. But I could have said no to that guy. He’s not really my type.”
“He looked a little like that kind of boyfriend your friends back home expect you to have, though. You know, the one that talksa like dis.” I did the “Delicioso!” fingertip kiss.
She thought for a second. “You’re right. Maybe I should try to get him back.” Then she leaned over the counter and said to me, “Four is when my shift ends.”
“I’ll be here.” I tried to be nonchalant, but then I thought of the birthmark again and knocked over the condiment tray. Taryn just shook her head as if to say, “I don’t want to know.”
She was right. She didn’t.