A Father's Duty. Joanna Wayne

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      “Georgette.”

      Her mother’s voice crawled under her skin the way it always did. It was lyrical and haunting, as much a part of who and what Isabella was as the bright colors she wore and the bracelets and earrings that jingled when she walked.

      Georgette took a deep breath, then turned to face her mother. “Hello, Momma.”

      “Come in, Georgette. Please. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

      Georgette looked for words but didn’t find them, so she just walked to the open door and stepped inside. Isabella hugged her then stepped away and started straightening some magazines on a small table. The house hadn’t changed. The front room was where her mother did business. Telling fortunes, reading tarot cards, giving psychic advice. As always, it smelled of incense and spices, and was dimly lit by lamps whose shades were draped with red silk cloths. Music played in the background, an aria from an unfamiliar opera.

      “Come with me,” Isabella said. “Let me look at you under the bright light.”

      Georgette followed her into the small kitchen at the back of the house. It was exactly the same as it had been five years ago. The appliances were old but clean, and the small wooden table and chairs were the ones Isabella had bought in a second-hand furniture store on Magazine Street when they’d first moved here from down the bayou.

      Charcoal drawings Georgette had done in high school were thumbtacked to the wall next to the refrigerator, and an eight-by-ten framed picture of Georgette in her cap and gown hung on the wall behind the table. It had been taken the day she’d graduated from Tulane Law School.

      Isabella ran her fingers through Georgette’s shoulder-length hair, then cradled her cheeks in her hands as if she were a small child. “You are so beautiful. You look like your grandmother did in her old pictures. You have the same hair. Silky and black as pure onyx.”

      “You have the same hair, Momma.”

      “Maybe once. I don’t remember. Are you hungry? I could fix us some lunch. I have an appointment at two, but nothing before then. That gives us a whole hour and a half to visit.”

      Far more time than Georgette planned to be here. “I’m not hungry,” she said, “but fix something for yourself if you like. We can talk while you eat.”

      “I’ll eat a bite later, but I’ll make us some herbal tea. It’s good for the tempers.”

      They didn’t talk as Isabella filled the kettle and adjusted the flame on the front burner of the gas range. When she finished with that, she dropped two tea bags into a teapot and took two delicate china cups from the cabinet.

      “I wish you’d come to see me just because you wanted to,” she said, taking the chair closer to Georgette, “but I think it’s something much darker that brings you here.”

      “It is.” Georgette spread her hands on the table. “I’ve been seeing images of a young woman who appears to be in danger.”

      “Is it someone you know?”

      She shook her head. “I’ve never seen her before.”

      “What do you see in the revelations?”

      “The first time she had her hands and feet tied, but last night she was in a swamp. She’s running. I think someone must be chasing her but I only see the young woman.”

      “She’s calling out to you.”

      “Then why aren’t things clearer?”

      “It’s the way of the gift. It only shows what it wants to show. When did the visions start to appear?”

      “A few nights ago. I’d gone to the hospital to see a prostitute who’d been assaulted. She died while I was there.”

      “So you think the images are tied to the victim?”

      “I’m not sure. The first time they appeared was when I talked to the man who claimed he had found her and called an ambulance.”

      “You sound as if you don’t believe him.”

      “I don’t know what to believe. I saw him again a few days later and the images returned.”

      “Do the images only materialize when you’re with this man?”

      “No. Last night…” Her voice trailed off as the images shadowed her mind.

      “What happened last night?”

      “I had a nightmare. I was running through a swamp and when I woke my heart was pounding so I was afraid I might have a stroke or a heart attack.”

      “You are experiencing her fear.”

      “So what do I do to make the images stop?”

      “Find a way to help the woman.”

      “How can I? I don’t know who she is or where she is.”

      “Go back to the man and tell him what you see. Demand that he tell you the truth.”

      “I can’t do that, Momma. I’m a junior prosecutor. I can’t go around telling people about visions. They’ll think I’m …”

      “Crazy as me?” Isabella reached over and put her hands on top of Georgette’s. “If I could have, I would have spared you this anguish, Georgette, but withholding the gift isn’t within my power. You have it. You must learn to live with it.”

      The teakettle started to whistle. Isabella went to the range and poured the water over the two tea bags. Her long skirt swayed with her hips and the charms dangling from at least a dozen bracelets jingled with every movement of her arms.

      Isabella was fifty-one, eighteen years older than Georgette, but she could have passed for mid-forties. She was striking, with dark eyes and thick black lashes that set off her soft brown eyes. She possessed all the beauty traits Creole women were famous for, and yet Georgette knew her mother never saw herself as pretty.

      Not that she saw herself as ugly. It was just that Isabella lived on a different plane. She saw things no one else saw, but she never saw herself. She just took her looks the way she took life, as if it were in control and she was there to do its bidding.

      Isabella set the teapot on the table and settled back in her chair. “Maybe you’re not giving the visions a chance, Georgette. You can’t fight them or try to push them away. That only thwarts the power that lies inside you and keeps you from seeing things clearly.”

      “I don’t want to see any more, Momma. I want you to tell me how to make them stop.”

      “And what about the young woman?”

      “She’s not my responsibility. I didn’t ask for any of this. I refuse to let it claim my life.”

      “It’s not so simple, my sweet one. You can’t choose when the gift shows itself or when it goes, but you must listen СКАЧАТЬ