Page 8 of One More Time

‘Ha, a bit?’ He shook his head, chuckling at the memories of Grace devouring bags of lollies and copious amounts of chocolate over the years they were together. ‘Actually, I recall we went to this young fortune teller the last time we were there, back in … 1976, I think it was.’ He racked his brain, trying to remember the reading, and clear as day, it came rushing back to him like a wave arriving upon a shore. ‘That’s right, she told us we would always be in love, but that we would lose each other many times over.’ He turned to Hope and blinked quicker, his emotions overwhelming him. ‘I never really understood it at the time, or really believed it for that matter, but maybe I do now.’

Straightening up and turning to him, Hope pondered this for a few moments, then smiled. ‘Well, maybe you should go and see if this fortune teller is still there. And while you’re at it, buy Mum a bag of fairy floss for when she wakes up.’ For the very first time in three days, there was optimism in her gaze.

Charlie smirked. ‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’

Hope matched his tiny smile. ‘No, Dad, but I do think it’ll do you the world of good to go outside and get some fresh air.’ She glanced at the fold-out chair he’d been sleeping on. ‘You’ve been cooped up in here for days.’

Looking from Grace, out the window, then back to Grace, he heaved a weighty sigh. ‘Maybe you’re right.’ He hated the thought of her waking without him by her side, or worse—god help him if it were so—passing without him here to bid a final farewell.

As if privy to his thoughts, Hope patted his hand reassuringly. ‘Just to remind you, Dad, I’m always right, so you should heed my advice.’

‘Ha, that’s what your mother always says.’

‘Like mother, like daughter.’

‘Okay, well, I might just do that. And if I feel up to it, I might try and win her a teddy bear too, for old times’ sake.’ He looked to Grace’s bedside again. ‘It’ll give her a good chuckle, when she wakes up.’

‘Yes, it will.’ Leaning in, Hope wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. ‘I love you, Dad, so very much.’

Charlie nestled her against him and gave her a squeeze. ‘I love you too, sweetheart, with all my heart.’

‘I know you do, just like I know you love Mum with all your heart too.’ After lingering in his arms a little longer, she unravelled and stepped back. ‘Now go, be off with you.’ She gestured his path to the doorway with a smile too wide to be real. ‘And I’ll be right here, with Mum, and both of us will be waiting to hear all about your little adventure when you get back.’

Nodding, Charlie dragged himself away, eating his toasted sandwich as he wandered down the hallway to the elevator.

The air outside was clean and fresh, unlike the antiseptic room he’d grown accustomed to spending his every moment in. Not knowing what to do with his spare hand now he wasn’t holding Grace’s, he shoved it into his pocket, the feel of the brooch against his skin comforting. Then, one slow step after the other, he crossed the street and walked into the fairgrounds. The sights, sounds and smells were oddly comforting, yet overwhelming. It felt wrong, walking into such fun when behind him, his world was a deep, dark hole. But he reminded himself he was doing this for Grace. Everything he did from now on was for her.

Passing the food vans then making his way down sideshow alley, he kept a keen eye out for the fortune teller’s wagon. He didn’t hold out much hope of her being here after all the years, but he could at least try to look. Never in his life would he have believed he’d been so desperate to find a fortune teller, after labelling them storytellers and phoneys, much to Grace’s dismay. It had been his firm opinion that the future wasn’t predestined, nor could it be foretold, but what did he have to lose right now?

It was on the final laneway, when he was just about to give up and instead go in search of pink fairy floss, that he stumbled upon the barrel-roofed wagon with its pretty paintbox colours. Golden moons and silver stars dangled from the eaves and the scent of rich, spicy incense lingered on the cool night breeze, enticing him toward it. A sign at the front stated readings were forty dollars. Grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket, he smiled at the photo of Grace he’d had tucked in there for forty-eight years as he ruffled two twenty-dollar notes out. As his quivering hand met with the coolness of the railing, he carefully climbed the four steps, parted the red velvet curtains and, after confirming nobody was in there for a reading, ducked into the confines.

The doorway was like a portal to another world, one that was primitive, ancient and free. A whisper greeted him and he found himself staring into ageless eyes. The fortune teller’s long black hair had turned shiny silver, her vibrant youthfulness waned long ago, but she still wore the big-hooped earrings and had the same commanding presence.

The lamp cast her in an amber glow as she peered at him from her chair, her forearms resting upon a silky cover. ‘Come, sit.’ She gestured to a two-seater chair opposite her, scattered with ornate cushions.

‘Okay, thank you.’ Feeling way out of his depth, Charlie did as he was told. There was a long awkward silence as he got himself settled, and he swore she was staring into the depths of his soul as he passed over his forty dollars.

Her gaze never leaving his as she tucked the money into the silky folds of her dress, she drew in a long, steady breath. ‘So, what can I do for you?’ Her accent was thickly exotic.

‘Oh. Well, I was here, back in the seventies.’ He shifted uncomfortably while clearing his throat. He felt ridiculous with what he was about to say. ‘And I’d like you to do a reading for me again.’

Taking her time, she nodded slowly, then her pursed mouth formed a tiny smile. ‘Ahh, yes. I remember you.’

Charlie sat to attention. ‘You do?’

Her smoky eyes locking onto his, she fixed him with a steady stare. ‘Yes, and I also remember the young woman who wore what you have in your hand.’

At a loss for words, Charlie unfurled his arthritic fingers, his heart in his throat.

She looked from the brooch to him. ‘May I?’

‘Yes, of course.’ He stretched his arm out. ‘Please.’

Jangling gold bangles slid along her arm as she took the brooch and placed it in her crooked hand, staring at it as if it were telling her decades of stories. Using one bony, bejewelled finger, she tipped it back and forth, examining it, her breath quickening and her brows furrowing deeper. A minute passed in silence, followed by another.

Until Charlie couldn’t wait any longer. ‘What do you see?’ Sitting forward, he raked his desperate gaze over the deep etches of her face.

For a drawn-out moment, she did not reply, instead stared at him, almost through him, her eyelids flickering. Then, in the next breath, she brought all her focus back from wherever she had been, and to him. ‘She is near death’s door, your one great love, yes?’