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“I told you so,” Pocus says petulantly. I could slap him.
“You don’t know anything yet,” I remind him patiently. “I think you two need to be rational and take the time to let her explain.”
I stand in the doorway of the guest room, watching as Tory works her magic on Charlie. The little girl lies in the bed, nearly asleep as Tory speaks some sort of incantation over her. She looks more relaxed than I’ve seen her, but it’s in sharp comparison to the look of concern on Tory’s face.
I’ll admit, the moment Meredith called me to tell me that Charlie was having another fit, I questioned the wisdom in bringing her here. It seemed like a bad call to make, all things considered. Now I see, though, that there’s a reason why I couldn’t find anything wrong with her before. Medicine can’t do anything for her. She needs the help of a shaman and Tory is the best I know.
As I watch Tory work, I can’t help but respect her. She certainly has a gift, not only for healing but also for understanding. Tory knows the right thing to say and do at precisely the right moment. She has a certain way of infusing energy into the room. I’m grateful she’s the one who found Charlie when she did. I’m way out of my depth on this one.
I sigh heavily as I walk out of the room. Now I have the unpleasant task of dealing with Meredith. Pocus is furious, of course. Then again, when isn’t he? Still, I’m the one who brought her into his life, into his home. I’m the one who has to face the music and find out what the fuck is going on.
I pass a sullen Daisy on the stairs. She’s playing with a doll forlornly. She was so excited to get home and see Charlie. She immediately deflated when Tory broke the bad news that Charlie is sick. I pat her head as I pass by and pretend to pull a quarter out of her ear. It’s a stupid trick I learned my first year in pediatrics, and it always brings a smile.
Abigail approaches with a dark look for me.
“They’re in the kitchen,” she whispers, heading up to her daughter and suggesting they go watch a movie in her room.
Pocus and Abigail have a soundproofed room for reasons I don’t want to think about. She probably thinks there will be yelling and doesn’t want her daughter to hear it. I sigh as I take the last few steps quickly and head into the kitchen. This won’t be pretty.
Meredith sits at the kitchen table, staring at the wall. Pocus leans against the kitchen island with his arms crossed. The tension in the room is so palpable it nearly drowns me. This is my mess to clean up, though, so I have to start this dialogue.
I pull out a chair on the opposite end of the table and sit down, inviting Pocus to take a seat in one of the middle chairs. He shouldn’t be close to Meredith in case he gets the urge to strangle her. Then again, she could be the violent one for all we know. She has been lying to me since the moment I met her.
“You should probably start explaining,” I tell her warily.
She looks up at me, then her eyes flick to Pocus, who’s still got his arms crossed. She’s the most guarded person I’ve ever met, Pocus included. This should be an interesting exchange. But I can tell she knows she’s beat. She has to tell us the truth now.
“Charlie isn’t my sister. I know I shouldn’t have lied about that, but I did it to protect her.”
“Then who is she to you?” Pocus asks coldly. “Did you kidnap her?”
Meredith looks annoyed by the question, and she immediately jumps to her defense. “Of course not!” she hisses.
“Then where’s her family?” Pocus asks, his fists curling under the table.
“I don’t know,” she says, and I can tell she’s being truthful. “Charlie was abandoned when she was five or so. That’s all I really know. She was living in a group home when I came across her. The group mom was ready to throw her out.”
“What do you mean you ‘came across her?’” I ask.
Meredith’s expression becomes cloudy. I see her internal struggle play out in front of me. She wants to keep this secret, to stay guarded, but if she does, she’ll have to leave. Her posture deflates looking completely vulnerable.
“I sense gifts in others,” she says quietly, looking at Pocus. “As you can imagine, Charlie has a very powerful gift. It nearly incapacitated me. When I found her, I had no choice but to take her in.”
“Why?” Pocus asks sharply. “Why is it your business at all?”
“Because there are people who want to hurt kids like that. Or exploit their gifts. It isn’t safe for them to be out in the world unprotected.”
“What are you’re Mother Fucking Teresa,” Pocus deadpans. “If you’re looking for accolades, you aren’t going to find them here.”
“I don’t want accolades!” she shouts in frustration. “I want to find Charlie a safe place, with parents who understand her and will take care of her. Do you have any idea how many gifted kids are abandoned by their families?”
Pocus stiffens and his face grows pale. He knows exactly what that feels like. “And why should I believe any of this? How do I know you can sense gifts?”
“Because there’s a monster inside of you,” she answers, looking him dead in the eye.
My stomach drops in response. She can’t know that.
“And you feel everything,” she says, taking us both by surprise. “You know I’m telling the truth. You just want to be an asshole about it. So fine, should we talk about your friend who used to see the future? Or your friend who’s friends with ghosts?”
