The Jewel Box (42 page)

“If I come to Houston next weekend, what are my chances of getting your hands out of paint thinner and into something more fun?” Aidan asked.

“You talking tanned flesh, cowboy?” My mind conjured images of his fab physique.

“That, plus a surprise.”

“I love surprises, which is why I’ll never install that new Caller ID technology.”

“Well, I’d love to take you to a party at Roz and Roger’s. Roz found some numerologist guy she confers with before making decisions.”

“Are you saying I need help with decision making?”

“I’d never say such a thing,” he answered in amused tone. “Just thought it would be a fun evening. Who knows what he might see in our future.”

“Life is what you make it, Mr. Sculley. But I’ll tag along and get a reading or two.”

Aidan and I went to the party, and after barely greeting the host and hostess, he suggested I duck into the room for a psychic assessment. I was game for a hypothetical peek into my future—but not without a cocktail. I sent Aidan for my French martini as I entered the room where Roz stationed her guru, Mort Wiseman.

“So, you’re a psychic,” I said respectfully.

“Well, I enjoy sharing my metaphysical gift,” said the short, russet haired man. “But I own an advertising agency, so I prefer the term businessman.”

“Beg pardon.” I reached for my martini from Aidan. “Nevertheless, a name like Wiseman could be a big hit on the psychic hot line.”

His seraphic face remained unruffled as he stretched his plump hand forward, took mine and turned it palm up. I let him hold it until he rolled into details about my childhood, calling me a dreamer who’d left small town beginnings in search of a lavish lifestyle.

“What happened to the old tall, dark, stranger routine?” I frowned.

Mort didn’t respond, but did ask Aidan to leave and return when he was ready for a reading. Apparently Mort was a one-on-one visionary. “I see a modest home, then larger ones, but much unhappiness.” Mort scratched his chin. “Now I see an average home filled with happiness. Then anguish, confusion, sadness.” His hazel eyes searched my face.

“I thought you did future readings, not past.” I looked at the door, wondering whose ears were planted against the other side.

“We must review the past to predict the future,” he said stoically. “And your fickle ‘run away from problems’ nature has influenced your former decisions.”

I broke free of his grip.

“Care to discuss your guilt over your lost child?”

My distinct gulp filled the quiet room. How could he possibly know that secret? First I was stunned, and then weeping.

“Cherie, the spirit of your child is free, and you should be too. There was never malice in your actions—just a young, confused girl reacting rashly during an overwhelming time in her life. And never think the life you aborted caused the loss of your beloved young man. It was simply his time to fly among other guardian angels and spread his benevolence. He’s with you often, but spends most of his time assisting lost souls. He says you’re going to be fine.”

“Sean.” I wiped away tears. When Aidan tapped on the door again I reached over and gently kissed Mort’s cheek. “Nice meeting you Mort, but my cola in transit and this martini are begging for liberation. Read someone else’s palm. Mine’s accompanying me to the ladies room.” I motioned Aidan for his turn in the hot seat.

I felt comfort and relief over the unveiling of facts only Gabriel and Delilah knew. I’d been hiding my illegal abortion for so many years, I never dreamed a guy with a crystal ball would be the one to pry open my guilt-lined crypt. I’m sure Mort could have dredged up my sequined pasties and adulteress status too.

Aidan wandered out with a major grin on his face. Guru guy had predicted marriage and mega business success for him. How nice. I was sure Aidan’s success would continue, but wasn’t sure who his lucky bride might be.

After two martinis I decided to head back to clairvoyant corner. It seemed Mort anticipated my return. He handed me a stack of tarot cards to shuffle and cut. I obeyed, and then returned to him. Chewing the side of his mouth, he arranged and studied the cards before rolling into his spiel. “I’m seeing white go-go boots.” He gave me a quick glance.

“My tribute to Nancy Sinatra.” I shrugged. “Mort, I’m aware of my past. Can we move onto my future?”

Without hesitation, he studied the cards. “I see a blond man with blue eyes, surrounded by five women. Possibly a mother, a sibling, children, a green-eyed wife.” Mort hesitated.

What did rehashing O’Quinn issues have to do with my future? Apparently Mort was in limbo, but I wanted to move ahead. “Mort,” I said sweetly, “you’ve proven your ability, however you don’t seem willing to discuss my future. But whatever it may be, it’s my call. Your crystal ball failed to highlight a fabulous father figure. It’s his advice that keeps me moving forward with gusto and I believe I can handle the trip without your direction. No offense.”

“None taken,” Mort replied. “But since the whereabouts of your dear friend greatly concerns you, I can tell you Mr. Jack of Clubs is alive but barely breathing air into his lungs.”

“Omigod.” I felt faint as I grabbed Mort’s arm. “Where’s Beau?”

“In a place you can’t reach him—due to family complications. But he’s living his last days as comfortable as possible.”

“Family complications?” I asked.

“Jealous ex-wife who won’t let another female anywhere near him, especially one she remembers from some tiny little club.”

My anxiety was accompanied by nausea, but I was ready to go find Beau. Mort offered an odd smile that seemed to be all-knowing yet cocky. My fanny bid farewell to his hot seat.

“Well?” Aidan questioned, eager to learn my future.

“Mort predicted we’d move to Tijuana and raise our tri-lingual triplets.”

“You’re not going to marry me, are you?” Aidan asked.

“Can we discuss this elsewhere? I don’t do sensitive subjects in crowded places.”

We found our hosts, and then said farewell to friends as Aidan escorted me outside. Several folks stopped him along the way wanting invites to sunny California, before we finally made it to the car and on the road. He patiently waited for me to continue our conversation.

“Aidan, I’m opening a business in a few weeks, and if you think I’ve been stressed thus far, just wait. This is the biggest risk I’ve ever taken and I’m a tad overwhelmed.”

“But you don’t have to take risks. I’m making enough money you never have to work. You can play at the ocean all day or do whatever you want. Or you can open the business in Newport Beach.”

“I’m a Texas girl, Aidan. Galveston is rich with history, and when I saw the ‘for sale’ sign on the café where Beau and I shared our last lunch, I had to own it.” My mind drifted to people I didn’t know personally, but would miss. For twenty years I spent mornings watching perpetually happy Don Nelson do his thing on Channel 13, sports wouldn’t be the same without humorous sportscaster Craig Roberts, I couldn’t whip through traffic jams without Master Lanny Griffith, and I didn’t want to sacrifice my Rock N Roll Army membership by parting with Col. St. James, who had DJ’d on almost every radio station in Texas since 1970.

“Still sounds like a big risk. What if you fail?”

Aidan was talking risk to the wrong person. I could’ve rattled off every line of the quote Beau recorded for me, but I barely got past “Risks must be taken, because the greater hazard in life is to risk nothing,” when Aidan interrupted with some Dylan verse about letting go and moving on down the road. Our final goodbye—said via words of others.

29

For over a week I methodically called every hospital and nursing home in the Houston area, including River Oaks, where Beau’s ex-wife Celeste owned a home. Nothing. I presumed Celeste acquired home care for her dying ex-husband, and I wasn’t about to disturb that environment, even though I desperately wanted to see him one last time.

The shop opening was delayed three weeks, but I never missed Aidan and never once regretted my decision. I adored him—just wasn’t in love with him. I’d hurt enough men by not fully reciprocating in the love department. Hopefully Aidan would find his dream woman and live happy ever after like Mr. Wiseman predicted.

Ellen and Charles went to Hawaii for two weeks to celebrate their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary, thus dropped Mother with me for a fourteen day visit. Boy did we ever connect! Years earlier Mother had dyed her graying champagne blonde hair a subtle scarlet shade, but over time her personality went fiery redhead. We sailed zingers back and forth, and indefatigable Lynn proved anything but uptight, arranging furniture and collectibles in perfect “show off” spots. Yes, she spouted quotes (less verbatim than in my youth), but my appreciation for her teaching method blossomed.

A jet-lagged Ellen collected Lynn the night before my grand opening, and our seventy-five-year-old mother insisted on driving home. I didn’t fret as they handed her the keys. Lynn had more energy than all of us.

Nikki came to run the register and persuaded her friend Angela to waitress alongside two ladies I hired. Taking a risk, I made more specialty sandwiches than I ever dreamed would sell, and purchased several cakes from
Timtations
, a bakery owned by Nikki’s friends, Tim and Terri. I printed about a hundred copies of “Risk” onto parchment paper to place in all bags, hoping to hand out at least twenty bags to customers. And I played Beau’s tape on Risk minutes before opening, soothed by the warmth of his voice.

Something magical happened that day. I sold all the cucumber sandwiches, most of my spice tea, every slice of delicious cake, and seventy percent of my smaller furniture pieces for phenomenal profit. After everyone left and we locked the shop, I sat in my Queen Anne chair for a tiny breather. “Come relax a few minutes, Nikki,” I urged.

“No thanks. I just wanna count this cash and get home to Tad.”

I picked up a parchment paper copy of “Risk” from a table near my chair and although I knew it by heart, gave it another read. As I sadly recalled Beau’s aging, weakened voice the night he read the quote to me, a vision appeared. A vision so real, I reached forward to the broadly smiling, impeccably dressed, forty-something Beau Duvalé who extended his hand and graciously said, “Welcome to the Jewel Box.” The image faded and a sensation of light snow drifted across my body bringing a chill unlike any I’d ever felt. I grabbed my cashmere throw and wrapped cocoon style, trying to regain normal temperature. Seconds later I was warm and cozy, ready to complete my moment of Zen. Nikki interrupted by summoning me to the counter.

“Mom, did you put this
Jack of Clubs
card under the tray for any special reason?”

“No. I cleared the register of everything but cash, long before we opened this morning.”

“Weird,” she said.

“No, lovey.” I looked into the register at the card. “It’s blessings from Beau.”

Nikki worked several more weekends with me, even though I never asked. Things slowed down after the grand opening, but stayed respectably steady. Long after I hired a lady to assist part time, Nikki frequently showed up to run the register or help rearrange things.

Then came the call.

“Hey, Mom,” Nikki sang into the phone. “Can you handle this weekend without me?”

“Of course,” I assured. “As much as I appreciate all your hard work, I don’t expect you to be driving down here every weekend to play cashier.”

“Well, I’ll miss clipping fifties from the register when you’re not looking, but I think you’ve got the hang of it now. Plus you said something about hiring full-time summer help.”

“Not to worry, Nikki. I’ll miss seeing you so often, but realize you have a busy life in Houston.”

“Yeah,” she responded casually. “I guess it’s going to get much, much busier.”

She was coy and enjoyed making me fish for answers to her clues.

“How so?” I nibbled her bait.

“Tad proposed.” She squealed excitedly into the phone.

“Omigod, Jacy Nicole.” I almost dropped the receiver. “What a thrilling surprise.”

“We wanted to drive down and tell you, but he just got off his knees and I couldn’t contain my excitement for the hour drive to Galveston. You’re the first to know.”

“I’m over the moon.” I wanted to hug her through the phone. Having witnessed my multiple marriages and failed relationships, I knew Nikki wouldn’t commit unless she was one hundred percent sure. They had dated four years and knew each other well. “When’s the big day?”

“Not to worry,” she trilled. “We’re waiting until Tad passes the bar, so it’ll be another year. Does that give us enough time to put it all together?”

“Of course it does,” I said, praying she’d keep it simple.

“Great, Mom. Well, we’re off to hit a couple of jewelry stores and see if anything knocks my socks off. Tad knew better than to surprise me with a ring. Our jewelry taste is vastly different.”

“Tad’s a wise man. Congratulations, sweet girl.”

“Thanks, Mom. Why don’t we meet next weekend? You can help me look at more rings and congratulate Tad. He has tons of studying, and you’re a better shopping partner.”

I met Tad and Nikki at Bennigan’s, where Tad formally asked for her hand in marriage before she and I went looking at rings. Tad kissed my cheek, and then kissed her goodbye. Over and over. Looking at them, I remembered Mark Twain’s quote in a letter about love and grief, in which Twain called marriage the supreme felicity. He said the deeper the love, the surer the tragedy and the more heartbreaking when it came. I wanted Twain to be totally incorrect in their case.