“It’s kind of funny.”
“Will, I fell in love with a lie. It’s not funny.”
Will wipes the humor from his face. “You’re right. Sorry.” He claps his hand over my shoulder and squeezes. “She never tried to tell you? All of it was for revenge?”
My mind goes quiet, listening carefully for what that small, insistent voice inside me has been saying for weeks.
“She did tell me. I didn’t believe her.” Then I admit, “I didn’t want to believe her. I liked being her husband. I loved her. I loved the kids.”
Will studies my expression. “Love.”
“What?”
“Love not loved.”
I look down at the stone tile to hide the longing I know is evident in my expression. It’s been twenty-two days, but I still wake up expecting to hear that darn rooster crowing before the sun is up, the kids scrambling down the ladder, Scooter snoring, and Jamie curling into my side. I shake my head. Speaking of that darn rooster, did they really name me after that jerk, one-eyed bird? I restrain a smile. Come to think of it, maybe Will’s right, it is funny in a way.
Thinking back, when Jamie and I first met I practically told her she was an ignorant, banjo-fiddling, barefoot, chicken-rustling hillbilly. And then she made me exactly what I derided. She exaggerated her accent, I could always tell when she was putting it on. She doesn’t even like bluegrass, that was all Grandma, and every time Jamie turned it on, there was a devious light in her eyes. The rotten eggs dumped on my head, the port-a-john job, sleeping with the dog, feeding the chickens, the clothes, all of it was to give me a taste of what I’d ridiculed. What I don’t think they expected was that I’d love it, I’d love them. And what they didn’t expect, I think, was to love me.
That’s what that small voice deep down is telling me. They all love me. It didn’t just feel real. It was real.
“Why are you here?” Will takes in the bags under my eyes, the tired lines of my face, the revelation coming over me.
I let out a huff of air. “I came to ask that psychic if Jamie’s my soul mate. I figured I could forgive her if that were the case.”
“You wouldn’t otherwise?” His brow furrows, like this thought is foreign to him. I imagine it is. Will forgave our dad, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do that.
I don’t answer, so Will says, “She lives at Water’s Edge, her name’s Erma Tanaka.”
“Thank you.”
A wave of relief washes over me. She’ll tell me Jamie’s my soul mate and then everything will have happened for a reason.
I love Jamie.
She loves me.
Erma will confirm everything.
* * *
“It doesn’t work that way.”
Erma Tanaka—"call me Miss Erma”—frowns at me while pouring a pot of tea in the recreation room of the retirement center. There’s a rowdy game of bridge going on at the next table, and someone is baking chocolate chip cookies in the attached kitchen.
She’s smaller than I thought she’d be for the amount of weight she holds in this town. Miss Erma is even tinier than Grandma Allwright and probably just as old. Even so, she’s sharp. She took my measure in a millisecond and I can tell she’s not impressed.
I lean back in the squeaking metal folding chair, reminded of Ms. Crum and the unfortunate superglue incident.
“But you predicted Jessie and Will,” I wave my hand around the rec room, “And from what I hear, hundreds of other couples.”
Erma pushes the dainty cup of steaming black tea across the table. “Do you take milk?”
“Just sugar please.”
She nods her approval and drops a heaping spoon into my cup.
“Thank you very much.” Even though I’m impatient, and frustrated, I still have manners.