VisionSight: a Novel Page 5

  As for Betty, the one who called the song stupid, her son said she was a nurse at the V.A. Hospital and volunteered as a mentor to low-income teenage girls, trying to keep them in school. He said her nephew’s death in Viet Nam made her angry and when she retired she joined Grandmothers for Peace.

  Fascinating – the sisters were so different. Frances’s philosophy was apparently to do the best you can with a pair of Jacks. Betty’s was to return some cards to the dealer and draw some new ones in hopes of getting a royal flush.

  Of course, it made me think about my “gift.” Mom said there was no way to change what you saw in someone’s future. But what if she was wrong? What if Betty was right – you keep trying to get better cards than the ones you’re dealt.

  8.

  Mr. Spencer replied to my email right away, agreeing to meet me for coffee. I hadn’t thanked him for the flowers he sent after Mom died, so it was a good excuse to contact him. But that wasn’t my real reason for wanting to talk.

  He’d done his best to be a good dad to Tia and her brother as his marriage crumbled. He won custody, I’m sure, because of Mrs. Spencer’s alcohol problem. So I’d seen him many times over the years and he always welcomed me into their home as though I were one of the family.

  He was already there when I arrived at the coffee shop, sitting at a table on the patio. He stood up as I approached. He was a handsome middle-aged man, tall and trim with only the slightest hint of a paunch, dressed in brown slacks and a tweedy sport coat. He looked like the successful businessman he was, with a touch of grey at the temples and the same creamy brown complexion Tia had.

  “Jenna, how you doing, honey?”

  “Mr. Spencer, so good to see you again.”

  He gave me a fatherly hug, then dashed inside to place our order while I sat down at the table, which was bathed in late morning sunlight. He was back in a moment with two coffees and a large muffin, which he cut in half to share.

  “Tia told me you got a role in a play,” he said.

  “At the Midtown Theatre. It’s called Rose and Lily. I get to play Rose as a young woman.”

  “How exciting,” he said, sipping his coffee.

  He was carefully avoiding anything negative, waiting for me to get to the point of our meeting.

  He asked about my dad and Meg. I asked how Tia’s older brother, Terry, was doing. I thanked him for the bouquet he’d sent. Small talk as we ate the muffin and enjoyed our coffee. And finally, I worked up the nerve to share what was on my mind.

  “So, I guess you’re wondering why I wanted to see you.”

  He gave a friendly shrug.

  “Well, I’m sure Tia told you I moved out of the apartment. I’m living at my mom’s house now. Anyway, I feel bad about leaving her alone. I want you to know that. I love her like a sister, maybe more. And I miss her too. It’s just that… well, I just need some time on my own to kind of sort things out.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “But that’s not why I wanted to talk with you. You see, I’m a little concerned about Tia because of her mother’s alcohol problem.”

  His eyebrows furrowed then.

  “I’ve read that alcoholism can be inherited,” I continued. “And I’m hoping that doesn’t happen to Tia. But you know, when you’re in college everyone’s drinking. I mean, everybody’s doing it. And I should’ve thought about it way before now. But I was a stupid college kid and it didn’t cross my mind back then that maybe I should discourage her from drinking since she might have a gene for it or something.”

  Actually, Tia and I didn’t drink much in college but we were surrounded by people who did. So the words coming out of my mouth were true, technically speaking. But I was fudging big time on the implication. Hopefully, for a good cause.

  “Have you noticed her drinking too much?” he asked.

  How should I put it, I thought, without being dishonest?

  “Well, I’m not saying she’s a lush or anything. But there’s always a couple of bottles in the cabinet and going out always includes drinks. And it’s just that she’s so young. I’m just worried it might get worse as she gets older. And I was wondering if that’s kind of how it started with Mrs. Spencer.”

  Which took him by surprise, I think.

  “Well,” he said, setting his cup down. He squinted like he was thinking back and shifted in his chair, nodding his head as if to himself. “I suppose that’s how it began. You’re right – there’s a lot of drinking going on in college. Seems normal. And even after college, seems like drinking is just part of going out. And Portia’s drinking problem kind of snuck up on me. I finally realized how serious it was when I found a bottle of vodka inside one of her purses on a shelf in her closet. She had about ten purses stored in there and I was looking for my fanny pack so I could wear it to a Falcons game. I thought she might’ve put it with her pocketbooks, you know. And this old brown handbag was very heavy and I looked inside it to see what in the world was in there and lo, and behold, there was a fifth of Smirnoff. I stood there with that bottle in my hand wondering ‘what the hell?’ And then it dawned on me that the only reason someone would hide a bottle of liquor is so someone else wouldn’t know about it. And then I thought about the way she talked about the price of groceries going up all the time and about how tired she was in the evenings and how hard it was for her to wake up in the morning and about how she was always popping a breath mint in her mouth.”

  He sat there staring out at the trees in the distance as the cars whizzed by.

  “Hm,” he said.

  Finally, he drew a deep breath and looked at me.

  “Jenna, I’m glad you decided to talk with me. I don’t know if Tia has a problem or whether she might develop one but it’s worth discussing with her. Although I don’t think I’ll mention your name. I do think it’s interesting you’re both concerned about each other but can’t seem to talk with each other about those concerns.”

  He raised his eyebrows at me.

  I nodded sheepishly and then changed the subject. Tia said her dad had hired a professional genealogist to do a family history who dug up all kinds of fascinating information. So I told him I was interested in doing the same thing – which was true, although for different reasons – and got the name of his genealogist.

  I set up an appointment with her, figuring if I could find some family history of early deaths that might possibly be from cancer or heart disease or something, that might be ammunition to get Dad to take better care of himself and get tested.

  *

  With three more rehearsals before the show opened, the mood was not as relaxed onstage as it had been early on. It wasn’t that we didn’t know our lines, but Sam was putting pressure on us to really inhabit our roles, to make the characters come alive.

  “I want to feel your anger,” he shouted. Or “make me cry here, make me cry!” And “you want the audience to laugh out loud on that line – don’t throw it away!”

  It was during the flashback scene where Rose falls in love with her husband-to-be that the shit hit the fan.

  We were standing next to a fence post, backlit by romantic moonlight. His hands were on my waist as I gazed shyly into Randall’s eyes.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said.

  “It’s gotta be about more than beauty, Pete.”

  “It is. It is.”

  “Because beauty fades.”

  “It’s the beauty inside that lasts,” he said, leaning down and kissing me softly on the mouth.

  That scene had never bothered me up until that moment. But there was something about the way he kissed me – it felt so real. I guess he was taking Sam’s direction to heart. And it reminded me of the way Alex kissed me. And while I was normally very focused on my scenes and my lines, I think I was totally absorbed in Rose’s character at that moment – her yearning for true love. Of course, I was longing to turn back the clock, longing to kiss Alex again. And that’s when a tingling began in my gut as Randall gazed intently into my
eyes.

  “I love you, Rose. And I want you to marry me.”

  The overwhelming feeling of the vision-sight swamped my senses. Scenes flashed through my mind, fast-forwarding from one to the next. Randall and Melanie having sex in the dressing room. Then there was sex with another young actress in another play, and another and another. And after each one, he returned home to his wife and gave her a peck on the cheek, telling her how long rehearsal had lasted and how tired he was. When I came to, I was holding tightly to the fence post and Randall was staring down at me like I was crazy.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Sam yelled from the darkened theater.

  “She’s having a fit or something,” said Randall.

  “No,” I said. “I’m fine. Just a little dizzy for a moment.”

  My voice sounded weak and quivery so I tried again.

  “I’m okay.”

  I peered into the darkness and nodded my head vigorously.

  “All right. Do it!” Sam replied.

  So I took a deep breath and we picked up right after the kiss.

  “I love you, Rose. And I want you to marry me.”

  Still feeling weak and shaky, I was careful not to look directly into Randall’s eyes. I gazed as lovingly as I could at his eyebrows.

  “Well, I have to admit you’re a good looking man, you’ve got a good job and you’re a pretty good dancer,” I said, trying to sound like I was teasing him.

  “What more could you want?” he said.

  But before I could say my next line he dropped out of character.

  “You have to look in my eyes, Jenna. I can’t get into it if you’re looking at the ceiling or whatever the fuck you’re doing.”

  “Let’s take five,” Sam shouted. “Randall, why don’t you get a Coke or something.”

  So he headed toward the back as Sam sprinted up the steps to join me center stage.

  “What’s going on?”

  He sounded concerned, not angry. But there was an element of stress there too, like it was a bad time for anything to come up at this point in rehearsals.

  “I’m fine, really.”

  “Well, you have to look him in the eye.”

  “Right.”

  “You’re not looking at me either,” he said, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses to the top of his head.

  “Sorry. I think I just need to eat a cereal bar or something. My blood sugar level must be low.”

  “Jenna!” he barked.

  I met his gaze then. He was staring hard into my eyes as though he was searching for something.

  “You’re a damn good actress. You’ve got a strong stage presence. You make me feel your emotions. And you’ve got the looks to get lead roles. Nothing but good things coming down the pike. So don’t get nervous. And don’t let Randall bother you.”

  He thought I was having a case of nerves.

  “Thanks,” I whispered, and took a deep breath.

  “But Randall’s right. Comprende?”

  “Si.”

  I got a Snickers bar from the snack machine before we continued. I needed some quick energy. It was troubling that I’d had a vision with someone I cared nothing about. It’s true, I’d been focused on getting into character. And although a feeling of regret had certainly welled up about Alex, still, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. At least not according to my mother. It had to be that I was trying so hard to really feel the moment, like Sam wanted. I decided before we came back on Monday I would figure out how to gaze lovingly into Randall’s eyes while, deep down inside, hating his guts. It also bothered me that I recognized his wife in my vision. She was the nervous actress I’d seen in the lobby on my callback, the one who didn’t get the part.

  The rest of the rehearsal went off without a problem. As I was heading out the door afterwards, Sam called for me to wait up.

  “Tomorrow is Sunday,” he said. “No rehearsal. I wanna go to Amicalola Falls. Need someone to go with. So I’ll be at your place at nine. We’ll get a biscuit and coffee on the way out of town. It’ll be a great way to relax before tech rehearsal Tuesday night.”

  Before I could beg off, he spoke again.

  “Wear hiking boots or good walking shoes. I’ve got sunscreen and bug repellent. I’m fixing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. If you’ve got any food you think might work, bring it. See you at nine.”

  “But…”

  He waved at me and trotted up the aisle between sections A and B.

  “Sam!” I called out, but he ignored me and disappeared through the door to the lobby.

  9.

  I clicked on Sam’s number five or six times that night. But I never hit “send.” Instead, I hauled my messy pile of stuff from the foyer to the guest room upstairs. I’d been pulling things from the stack ever since I moved in, kind of like a dumpster diver, grabbing a pair of shoes or rummaging through suitcases for a pair of pants. Couldn’t bring myself to unpack and settle in. That would make it seem permanent. So now the pile was still an ugly jumble, but at least it was out of sight.

  As I lay on the couch with a throw over me, I checked my messages. One from Alex, one from Tia and two from Dad. Alex left a sweet voice mail saying he hoped rehearsals were going well and he couldn’t wait to see the show. And he said he missed me. His voice was so sincere and so velvety. I always liked his voice. Deep, but not too deep, manly but not overly macho, intelligent but not geeky.

  The text from Tia was brief: “My father said you guys had coffee. What the hell?” And my dad’s first text said: “how r u?” And the second one said: “Call me.” So I texted him about my outing with Sam to ease his mind, then turned off my phone.

  The next morning I made sure I was ready early. I studied my reflection in the mirror. Khaki shorts, pale green tee, running shoes, white visor. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail to keep it off my neck, knowing I’d get hot and sweaty. No makeup, other than pink lip gloss and sunscreen. My sling bag was packed with two bottles of water, cereal bars, two apples, a bag of baby carrots and two little packs of trail mix, all of which I picked up on my way home from rehearsal.

  A quick check of the living room. Too tidy, I decided. So I dropped a couple of magazines on the floor by the couch, got a glass from the kitchen and set it on the coffee table and turned one of the couch cushions a little sideways. And that’s when the doorbell rang.

  “Fancy,” Sam said when I opened the door. “Ready?”

  I grabbed my backpack and locked the door.

  “Where’s your car?” I asked, looking toward the street.

  “Don’t have one. A friend dropped me off.”

  “Well, then, I guess we’ll take mine.”

  We got biscuits and coffee in the McDonald’s drive-through, although I would’ve preferred bagels and coffee from Panera. And we talked pretty much non-stop all the way – about an hour and a half drive – about the plays he’d directed, the plays he wanted to direct, about some of the actors he’d worked with, what he liked in an actor, how he was building his resume, that kind of thing. Then I could feel him giving me the once over.

  “You’re fun to talk with,” he said.

  I couldn’t help it – I laughed out loud.

  “What?” he said.

  I just smiled and kept my eyes on the road.

  “Oh,” he said, chuckling. “Well, it’s true. You’re a good listener.”

  *

  We walked past a reflecting pool and along the stream to the base of the falls. The highest east of the Mississippi, the sign said. And there it was, stunning to look at, water shimmering in the sunshine as it cascaded onto the jutting rocks. Amicalola was a Cherokee word that meant “tumbling waters.” And it was a perfect description. It was actually a series of falls more than 700 feet high. We followed some other people up a winding wooden staircase – 175 steps – to a deck with a glorious view.

  There were so many trees all around – oak, birch, hickory, poplar – that I wondered what it would look like in the fall.
>
  I snapped some pictures on my phone but who would I share them with? There was a time when I would’ve posted them online for friends to see, but not anymore. So I put my phone away and just soaked up the beauty.

  It was another 400 steps to the top of the falls, so we decided to save our knees and headed back down to the car so we could drive up. Once we were at the precipice, we stood on another viewing deck and gazed out over the crest of the falls, the mountains in the distance. A magnificent sight, although a bit unnerving.

  “Gorgeous,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. But I was imagining myself falling into the water and plunging over the edge to the outcrop below. In fact, that’s not unlike what I was doing in my life – bobbing along in a stream that becomes a river that rushes toward a precipice. The water has no choice but to cascade over the brink. And, right now, it was as though I was trapped in a current, being pulled along with the rushing water, straight for a waterfall.

  I shook my head slightly, trying to banish the morbid thought. I wanted to seize the day, to feel warmth and joy. I studied Sam’s face, which seemed to embody everything I aspired to – self assurance and an enthusiastic outlook on life.

  My sunglasses kept him from seeing exactly where I was looking, which at that moment was his lips. Part of me wanted to kiss those lips. I’d been feeling so isolated lately, I thought it would feel good. But I was keeping my shades on, just in case. The episode the night before with Randall had spooked me. I wasn’t sure anymore how much or how little affection I had to feel for someone to have a vision-sight. Maybe he sensed my desire, I don’t know, but that’s when he took my hand.

  “Let’s go for a little hike,” he said, pulling me with him.

  We headed down a path into the forest, enjoying the spectacular vistas as they opened up. It felt good to be outside. My skin craved sunshine. I dawdled when we came to each clearing, lifting my face to the sun.

  After finding a log to sit on, we opened our packs. Sam kept his promise, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. With the apples and baby carrots I’d brought, it was a decent picnic.