Excerpt From: Twelve Years

 

May 2001

Sage Jackson fanned a hand toward her face in a weak attempt to fend off the muggy New Orleans heat. She lifted her fair-skinned shoulders glistening with midday sweat, allowing air to her clammy armpits. Another French horn and trombone parade spilled out onto Canal Street.

Her steps slowed the moment a text message came to her cell phone. It was from the office secretary. She stopped fanning herself. Contact from her office while vacationing couldn’t be good. She crossed the street, allowing a horse-drawn buggy to pass, then blew out a long breath before reading the content.

She relaxed. Nothing was said about her client, only that her name was under consideration for another recognition award.

That was pleasing news, right? Appreciation shown for her dedication and hard work? But would they snatch back the award knowing her client’s grave condition? She blamed herself for his suicide attempt. After all, she’d chosen this profession to help people.

I’m going to be a therapist.

She’d touted the self-fulfilling words for years, watching other people’s faces light up with approval.

The affirmation towered over her like a beam throughout college and until she strutted across the stage, obtaining her master’s degree in psychology. The atta-girl approval continued as she’d settled into her dream job.

Now she’d have to pretend to know nothing about the nomination when she returned to work. The secretary was notorious for divulging confidential information prematurely.

With the parade in the distance, Sage headed in the opposite direction, glancing back at the text.

I can’t wait to hear all about your trip when you get back. Triple smiley faces were displayed at the end of the message.

Right then, she winced and placed her fingertips to her chest. Not because of the secretary’s text, but from the tune a boy hummed. It sounded familiar, like something her younger brother had carried out to annoy her. The melody’s odd tug drew her closer. She wanted to connect to it.

She glanced at the crowd walking and laughing, kids skipping and running. The boy was gone. Or did he ever exist? It wouldn’t have been the first time her mind played a prank on her.

She tossed her phone into her handbag, eventually bypassing the French Market District with restaurants and vendors, and headed toward the rows of cream-colored tents, each showcasing a different theme, art, portrait drawing, jewelry, and more.

They reminded her of her hometown, Atlanta, Georgia. Piedmont Park had yearly art festivals featuring artists from around the world. Bands played and food trucks lined the streets, though she hadn’t attended the event in years, shunning the park altogether.

Sage widened her eyes at the large sparkly sign outside the tent. Makamba Psychics.

“That sounds believable,” she chuckled sarcastically, still gleeful to do something ridiculous and brag-worthy for the trip’s finale.

A swift breeze blew a loose curl across her cheek as she entered the tent. Sage glanced around. A group of candles resting on a round table provided ample lighting.

“Please. Sit,” the woman said, moving her hand across the table in a dramatic fashion. She had three different nose piercings and donned a bright purple turban. The Ethiopian-looking woman appeared twenty-something and wore a matching top and skirt.

Sage sat, scooting the chair closer to the table. She laid the money down and closed-mouth smiled when the woman pushed the bills down between her breasts. She placed her palms on the table, ready. It was like wrestling, and even though it was bogus, you wanted to be taken on a wild ride.

The woman took a long sip of tea before she flipped over the blue star-covered card.

“What’s this called?” Sage asked.

“Celtic Cross formation. This represents you now,” the woman said in a thin voice.

The figure on the card was that of a peachy-white woman from medieval days. Her wavy, golden hair flowed over her blue gown.

As the tarot reader continued, she brought up Sage’s family.

“There is much turmoil. You must make peace.”

“Make amends with… my parents?” Ah-ha. I’ve got you.

“Yes.”

“How should I go about doing that?” Sage scratched the tip of her nose, ready to pounce.

“They are dead. Still. You must find a way to forgive them.”

Sage’s mouth parted. The suggestion made a lump lodge in her throat. Forgive them. Did the reader have it backward? The real question was, did they ever forgive her for disappointing them? Even while patting her on the shoulder for reassurance, they never looked her in the eyes.

“Your love life…”

Sage focused, shifting forward.

“…Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sage asked.

“You have caused each relationship to wither.”

Sage gasped, visualizing her last two breakups which ended in yelling matches and broken vases. And prior to that, a broken engagement.

“You are spinning wheels, no? Your job no longer covers you.”

Sage swallowed hard. The woman’s accuracy was cringe-worthy, not only about her relationship with her parents, but her past relationships, and now, with the latest card, the stress of her job. Had the woman gone through her trash and spied on her at the office? The reading no longer amused her.

The reader turned over another card. “This means love is on the horizon, if you follow your new path of steadiness.”

Sage batted her eyelashes, waiting for the detonation of insults. She wanted the prediction to come true, and when the woman came to a skeleton riding a white horse, she started to explain about death.

“I’m gonna get hit by a bus?” Sage joked, tapping her fingertips to the table.

“No, no,” she said. “Death…” The woman coughed lightly at first until it turned rough like loose phlegm rocketed up from her feet and shot out of her throat. She violently wheezed and gasped for air.

Sage shifted forward, ready to assist. The woman patted her chest before looking up at the corner of the tent. Turning sharp, Sage glanced over her shoulder to see her friend Tan standing there, hip jutted out while gripping her elbow. Obviously, she was tired of waiting.

Sage smiled, letting her know the reading neared an end, at least she hoped so. She expected the reader to continue. Instead, the woman frowned and cleared her throat.

The reader wrapped her slender fingers around her teacup and attempted to sip, although her hand trembled.

Sage’s stomach knotted. What did she see in the cards? Or was she faking? But she’d been spot-on up until this point. She could’ve made up anything and she wouldn’t have known the difference.

The woman had spoken of her present situation and her past, but she stalled when it came to her future. Finally, the woman looked at her through veiny, bulging eyes, pleading-like and helpless. Her jaw fell in horror before she shouted, “I-I cannot.”

“What do you mean?” Sage asked.

“Beware. Death follows you. Destruction awaits you.” The woman pushed away from the table.

“What are you saying?” Sage asked, thrusting back from the tabletop as well.

“No, no. I can’t. No more.” She reached into her blouse and threw the money. Some of it fell onto the wooden planks beneath their feet. The woman stood and pointed to the tent’s opening.

“Hey.” Sage held her palms in the air. “You’re kidding, right? You throw out a card with a dead man… thingy… whatever, riding on a white horse and you end my reading like this?”

“Go. Just go.” The woman’s eyes filled with emotion. “So sorry.”

Tan snatched the money from the floor and handed Sage the crumpled dollars before she marched out of the tent. Sage picked up bills from the table. The woman’s unsteady hand touched her chin. Her skin blanched like a ghost had lifted from the cards. Her chest heaved as her breaths grew short, a tear finally escaping her eye. Still, she remained defiant, demanding with a firm stance, that they leave from her presence.

Twelve Years will be available on Amazon, August 24th!