“Yourealize you ended up asking for my help anyway, right?” she asked. “Despite not believing, you’re here.”
“I ran out of options and time.”
She hummed, considering. “I don’t know if I believe that.”
“It’s the truth. So, you should.”
Rae smiled. “That’s never how life worked.”
“It’s how it should work.”
“Should,” she repeated in a low voice as if she were practicing the word for the first time. “Octavia?”
The sound of my name coming from her deep voice made the air feel like sand in my lungs.
“What do you believe?” Rae asked.
“If not the paranormal?” I finished for her.
“If anything.”
“I believe the Earth’s round and not the center of the universe. That we landed on the moon,” I said. “Plenty of science proves enough for us to understand that a thousand different things could cause perceived paranormal activity belts.”
Rae teased her fingers through her hair, gathering it off her neck for a second. A few strands stuck to her skin, curly swirls that revealed her natural texture. We stopped in front of a vending machine. Its blue light painted our skin, tempting me with the promise of well-packaged, non-fly-plagued snacks.
“I wanted to own a ranch because I wanted a safe place for?—”
“Horses,” she finished. “I know. But come on. You could ride horses anywhere. Work on someone else’s ranch. Why take on the responsibility of maintaining the grounds? Hiring employees? Tending to your animals’ health needs? What’s in it for you?”
I studied her. Rae looked like she spent thousands on personal upkeep, from her perfect, laminated brows, red-stained lips, and bright white teeth. A whole day had gone by, and she still smelled like someone who’d stepped right out of the shower, fresh linen and vanilla body oil. Despite the humidity, there wasn’t a drop of sweat on her brow or a mark of deodorant staining her tank.
“I get to be useful,” I said simply. “I get to be in one place.”
One big empty place that didn’t make me feel like the walls could close in. I rested my gaze on the faded buttons on the vending machine, punching in the numbers for a bag of pretzels with my knuckle. Rae was quiet for a moment, the whining of the vending machine pushing out my purchase at a snail’s speed.
“Why sell the kits?” I turned the tables on her. “Why work outside of the jobs you take? Give talks, go to signings?”
“Everyone deserves a chance to break their own curses.” Her voice was soft and low. A gentleness in response to the rough texture of the word ‘curses.’ “And it was killing me seeing how many people I couldn’t help.”
Her confession didn’t change the dislike I had for all the bobbleheads and photoshoot prints. But the words still hooked themselves into my chest. A small tug connecting my desire to break free of the haunts my parents passed down to Rae’s desire to give people the tools to do something. Because even if it wasn’t real, did that make the sentiment any less important? Kind?
We stared at my unretrieved bag of pretzels.
“Could I ask you something and you be honest and not…too focused on selling yourself?” I asked.
“I’m too focused on selling myself?”
I pinched my index and thumb together. “A tad.”
Rae frowned and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’m not trying to offend.” I waved my hands back and forth.
No bull’s-eye. No bull’s-eye.
She smiled, and her brow softened with amusement. “I’m not offended. I’m just not sellinganything right now.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “You literally just repeated your book’s tagline.”
