lightheaded and uncomfortable, like she was wrapped in something she couldn’t shake off. The booth became confining and the background noise assaulted her senses. She pulled some money out of her wallet, enough to cover her share and then some, and put it on the table. “I’ll wait for you guys outside,” she said, slinging her purse strap over her shoulder. “I need to get some air.”
Outside the restaurant, Jazzy filled her lungs with the warm evening air. The group of smoking men had gone, and she had the space to herself. With every passing minute her sense of panic dissipated along with the trapped feeling. The three people at the table weren’t going to follow her out. She was fine for now.
But now what? She could go for a walk—the other women had her cell phone number and could meet up with her when they were done. But she was in a strange city and it was getting dark. Maybe not the best idea. Patience , said a voice. It will all work out. She closed her eyes and aimed her face at her feet, shaking off her tension, relaxing in the moment.
The front door to the restaurant opened, and she heard a slice of conversation mixed with up-tempo music. “Jazzy?” She looked up to see Marnie, a worried look on her face. “Are you okay?”
Jazzy pushed her hair out of her face. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She smiled in what she hoped was a convincing way.
“You looked like you were going to be sick.” Marnie had such a caring look on her face Jazzy almost felt like hugging her. It occurred to Jazzy that she was in the company of women old enough to be her aunt, mother, and grandmother.
“No, I’m okay.”
“What is it, then?” Marnie was next to her now, her arm around her shoulder. “Tell me.”
Jazzy hadn’t planned on spilling the truth. She’d been ready to spin a tale of stomach issues or menstrual cramps. The words were there, willing and able, but different words came out instead. “I couldn’t deal with those three people staring. It was freaking me out. I had to get away.”
The traffic light at the closest intersection changed from red to green, and a black Mustang screeched away from the intersection, trailed by a line of cars. Marnie said, “Usually I find that people stare because they think you look like someone they know. In your case, though, I think it’s because you’re so pretty.”
“I’m not so pretty,” Jazzy said. “I look like most everyone else.”
“Youth has its own beauty,” Marnie said, sounding wistful. “You are completely perfect, every bit of you. Someday you’ll look back and realize that.”
Jazzy gave her a faint smile. “Your theory is really nice, and I appreciate you trying to make me feel better,” she said, slowly, “but I believe the reason they were staring is that they could sense something about me.”
“Which is what?”
She sighed. It was official—Jazzy was tired of denying who she was. If people couldn’t accept her oddities, then the hell with them. It was better to know what they thought right from the start. She turned to meet Marnie’s gaze. “I don’t usually tell people this, but I’ve already told Rita, so the rest of you might as well know too. You might think I’m crazy or woo woo or whatever. I can’t help that. But the fact of the matter is that I’m psychic.”
Marnie raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Do you see dead people?”
“Something like that.”
“Wow.”
“Does that change what you think of me?” Jazzy asked.
Marnie shook her head.
“Really? You don’t think I’m crazy or lying?”
“No, I don’t think you’re crazy or lying. If you believe it, that’s good enough for me,” Marnie said. “It must be nice to know you have a special talent.”
They were both quiet for a minute or two. “You’re a really good cook,” Jazzy offered.
“Anyone can do that,” Marnie said glumly.
“I can’t. Believe me, not many people cook anymore.”
They stood there in companionable silence. The
Outside the restaurant, Jazzy filled her lungs with the warm evening air. The group of smoking men had gone, and she had the space to herself. With every passing minute her sense of panic dissipated along with the trapped feeling. The three people at the table weren’t going to follow her out. She was fine for now.
But now what? She could go for a walk—the other women had her cell phone number and could meet up with her when they were done. But she was in a strange city and it was getting dark. Maybe not the best idea. Patience , said a voice. It will all work out. She closed her eyes and aimed her face at her feet, shaking off her tension, relaxing in the moment.
The front door to the restaurant opened, and she heard a slice of conversation mixed with up-tempo music. “Jazzy?” She looked up to see Marnie, a worried look on her face. “Are you okay?”
Jazzy pushed her hair out of her face. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She smiled in what she hoped was a convincing way.
“You looked like you were going to be sick.” Marnie had such a caring look on her face Jazzy almost felt like hugging her. It occurred to Jazzy that she was in the company of women old enough to be her aunt, mother, and grandmother.
“No, I’m okay.”
“What is it, then?” Marnie was next to her now, her arm around her shoulder. “Tell me.”
Jazzy hadn’t planned on spilling the truth. She’d been ready to spin a tale of stomach issues or menstrual cramps. The words were there, willing and able, but different words came out instead. “I couldn’t deal with those three people staring. It was freaking me out. I had to get away.”
The traffic light at the closest intersection changed from red to green, and a black Mustang screeched away from the intersection, trailed by a line of cars. Marnie said, “Usually I find that people stare because they think you look like someone they know. In your case, though, I think it’s because you’re so pretty.”
“I’m not so pretty,” Jazzy said. “I look like most everyone else.”
“Youth has its own beauty,” Marnie said, sounding wistful. “You are completely perfect, every bit of you. Someday you’ll look back and realize that.”
Jazzy gave her a faint smile. “Your theory is really nice, and I appreciate you trying to make me feel better,” she said, slowly, “but I believe the reason they were staring is that they could sense something about me.”
“Which is what?”
She sighed. It was official—Jazzy was tired of denying who she was. If people couldn’t accept her oddities, then the hell with them. It was better to know what they thought right from the start. She turned to meet Marnie’s gaze. “I don’t usually tell people this, but I’ve already told Rita, so the rest of you might as well know too. You might think I’m crazy or woo woo or whatever. I can’t help that. But the fact of the matter is that I’m psychic.”
Marnie raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Do you see dead people?”
“Something like that.”
“Wow.”
“Does that change what you think of me?” Jazzy asked.
Marnie shook her head.
“Really? You don’t think I’m crazy or lying?”
“No, I don’t think you’re crazy or lying. If you believe it, that’s good enough for me,” Marnie said. “It must be nice to know you have a special talent.”
They were both quiet for a minute or two. “You’re a really good cook,” Jazzy offered.
“Anyone can do that,” Marnie said glumly.
“I can’t. Believe me, not many people cook anymore.”
They stood there in companionable silence. The
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