12. A Visit With the Ancestors
A VISIT WITH THE ANCESTORS
TESSA
Café Amaretto is ground zero when Carissa and I need to devise a plan.
It’s our spot—a place where everything feels possible, even when the rest of the world is falling apart. When I called her and said I needed to find Saul, she didn’t hesitate.
“Meet me at Amaretto when they open,” she said, her voice steady but laced with concern. She didn’t ask for details, and I was grateful for that.
At 7:00 am, I push open the café door, and the scent of roasted coffee and cinnamon wraps around me, momentarily easing the tension in my chest. But the reprieve doesn’t last. My nerves are shot, my mind is racing, and my body is running on fumes. I’m barely holding myself together, like a frayed rope about to snap.
Carissa’s already there, sitting in our usual corner by the window. Her smile is as steady as the Mississippi, but her brows knit together in worry when she spots me.
“Hey, girl,” she greets, standing to pull me into a hug. Her arms feel strong and grounding, but I can tell she’s assessing me, taking in the dark circles under my eyes and the jittery way I’m gripping my purse strap.
“Hey,” I mumble, sliding into the chair across from her. My smile feels stiff, forced, and entirely unconvincing. My hands won’t stop trembling, so I tuck them into my lap, hoping she doesn’t notice.
Carissa sits back down, her latte cradled between her palms. Her dark eyes are sharp as they scan my face, and I know there’s no hiding from her. “All right, spill it, Tessa. What’s got you looking like you haven’t slept in a week?”
I laugh weakly, the sound hollow even to my ears. “Because I haven’t,” I admit, running a hand through my tangled curls. “Every night, it’s the same. Saul’s in my dreams, and I think he’s in trouble, Carissa. He might need me.”
Her expression shifts, her brows drawing together in both confusion and concern. “Need you how? Tessa, we’ve talked about this. Saul stood you up. He’s gone. You don’t owe him anything.” Her tone is firm, but there’s a softness in her eyes, a warmth that reminds me she’s here because she cares.
I shake my head, the motion too quick, too frantic. “It’s not about owing him, Carissa. These dreams... they’re not just dreams. They feel real. Like he’s reaching out to me, begging me to help him. And then there’s Mama. She’s in them too, telling me I have the power to save him.”
Carissa’s eyes widen, and she leans forward, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Tessa, you’re not making any sense. You’re exhausted, girl. You look like you’re about to drop. When was the last time you ate? Or slept for more than an hour at a time?”
I press my palms against the table, trying to keep them steady. “I’m fine, Carissa,” I lie, even though we both know it’s not true. “I just... I need to figure out what these dreams mean. I need to find Saul.”
Her lips press into a thin line, and she sighs heavily. “Tessa, listen to me. You’re running yourself ragged over a man who left you. And now you’re talking about dreams like they’re gospel truth. I’m worried about you, girl. Why don’t you come to stay with me tonight and then go with me to a party at Crescent Hall on Saturday? You need to get out of your head for a bit. It’s the British Comicon’s afterparty. You know we love all things British. Bridgerton, Bond. Bronte.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them and chuckle. That we do. “I’ll think about it.” I take a deep sigh and tap my fingers on the table.”You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”
“No,” she says immediately, her voice softening. She grabs my hands to stop the tapping. “I think you’re overwhelmed. And I think you’re chasing answers because you’re trying to make sense of everything that’s happened. But you can’t keep running on empty, Tessa. You need to stop this obsession with him; it’s unhealthy.”
“I can’t,” I whisper, my voice breaking. I pick at the pearls around my neck and note how warm they are. “Not until I know he’s okay. I feel it, Carissa. He’s out there, and something is wrong. The dreams are so dark. I can’t just ignore that.”
Carissa’s eyes land on the necklace around my throat. Her expression softens, and her voice drops. “Your mother’s pearls,” she murmurs. “You always said it was just an old family story.”
“Maybe it’s more than that.” My fingers find the familiar beads, tracing their smooth surface. “Daddy used to say the women in Mama’s bloodline were priestesses. Protectors. He swore these pearls carried power—gris-gris from the holy. I always thought it was a myth, but now... I don’t know. It’s like they led me to Saul and want to lead me again.”
Carissa frowns. “How does an old necklace do that?”
I swallow, rubbing my thumb over the center pearl, feeling how it hums. “They react,” I say slowly, thinking back to every time the warmth has flared against my skin. “Whenever I need to make a decision about Saul, or when I can’t stop thinking about him, they heat up—sometimes just a little, sometimes enough to feel like fire.”
Carissa tilts her head, observing me. “Fire? Girl, are you saying your pearls burn you if they don’t like your choices?”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Not always. But when I start convincing myself to let go of this, to leave him in the past, they scorch me like I’m making a mistake. And when I’m thinking the right things or moving in a way that aligns with them?” I exhale, shaking my head. “They cool. Like ice water against my skin. Like approval.”
Carissa stares at me, her skepticism warring with the part of her that grew up in this city, where the bayou breathes secrets, and the air is thick with stories older than the streets themselves. “Tess,” she says slowly, her voice softer now. “What are they telling you right now?”
I glance down at the pearls, pressing my fingers against them, waiting for the sensation. The heat is there—not blistering or scalding, but a steady warmth, like embers glowing in the dark.
“They’re telling me I’m not done,” I whisper. “Not with him. Not with this.”
Carissa blows out a long breath. “Of course they are,” she mutters. “Because why would life ever let you have a simple heartbreak?”
I smile faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. Simple? Nothing about Saul, about us, about this—has ever been simple.
Carissa reaches across the table, her fingers warm as they wrap around mine. “Tessa, if you believe there’s something to this, then there’s someone you need to see.”
“Who?” My voice is steady, but my chest tightens with hope and fear.
“Your Grandmère,” she says, her tone reverent. “If anyone can help you, it’s her.”
I spin my coffee cup on the saucer, giving Carissa an incredulous look.
On the one hand, yes, if there’s one person who always has answers—or at least riddles that feel like answers—it’s Grandmère Sinclair. Still, I hesitate to bring her into this.
Grandmère is my anchor, but her beliefs can be overwhelming. She lives halfway between the physical and the spiritual, where the natural communes with the supernatural, and the mundane intertwine with the mystical.
"She’ll know what to do," Carissa insists. Her voice, always calm, takes on an edge of urgency. “You haven’t slept in what, weeks? You’ve been dreaming about Saul. And those pearls heating up? That’s not nothing, Tessa."
I stir my latte, my thoughts spiraling as steam curls upward. “Carissa, I love Grandmère, but you know how she gets. She’ll start talking about ancestors, Jesus, and the Holy gris-gris, and honestly, I don’t know if I can handle that right now.”
Carissa reached across the table, her hand warm and firm over mine. “Tessa, you don’t have to believe everything she says. But you do believe in her. And you know she believes in you.”
I nod because she’s right. Grandmère ’s wisdom isn’t about logic; it’s about faith. She’s why I grew up with roots strong enough to weather storms. If anyone can help me understand these dreams—and Saul—it’s her.
The two-hour drive to Grandmère ’s house feels like a pilgrimage. The narrow roads wind through moss-draped oaks, their shadows stretching long and lean across the path. Her house sits on the bayou’s edge, its wide porch framed by hanging ferns and the sweet scent of jasmine. Seeing it always stirs something in me—comfort mixed with reverence.
Reverence because this isn’t just a home; it’s a haven, a repository of family secrets, prayers, and whispered truths passed through generations. I also respect Sinclair land whenever I walk upon it because I know it’s more than just five generations of Sinclairs buried in this soil.
When I step onto the creaking wooden porch, the door swings open before I can knock. Grandmère stands there, her silver hair pulled back into a loose bun, her amber eyes sharp and knowing. She doesn’t say a word, opens her arms, and I walk into her embrace, the scent of lavender and sage wrapping around me like a balm.
“You’re troubled, chérie,” she says softly, pulling back to study my face. Her hands, worn and strong, rest on my shoulders. “Come inside. Let’s talk.”
Inside, the house feels like a time capsule, untouched by the chaos of the outside world. Quilts drape over every chair, and family photos cover the walls, a silent testimony to our lineage. The air smells of gumbo, rich and savory, bubbling away on the stove.
She leads me to the small kitchen table, a well-worn relic of countless conversations and cups of tea. “Sit,” she commands gently, already moving to pour two steaming cups from the pot on the counter.
I sink into the chair, the wood creaking beneath me. “Thanks, Grandmère .”
She places a cup in front of me and sits across the table, her hands folded neatly, her gaze piercing. “Now, tell me what’s been troubling you.”
I take a sip of the tea, its bitterness grounding me. “It’s Saul,” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. “He’s in my dreams, Grandmère. And Mama—she’s there too. She keeps telling me I have the power to save him.”
Her expression doesn’t change, but I see the flicker of recognition in her eyes. “Your mother always knew you were destined for something greater, Tessa, even in the womb. She was a seer. I wish she’d had enough faith to fight her demons to see you through this. Those pearls you wear—they’re part of that destiny. Do you feel them?”
“They... they heat up sometimes,” I admit, my fingers brushing the smooth beads at my throat. “It’s like they’re alive.”
Grandmère nods as if my answer is exactly what she expected. “The women in our family have always been protectors, guided by the spirits. Those pearls carry the prayers and power of every Sinclair woman before you. They’re showing you the path.”
I stand up abruptly. “ So, they are telling me what to do! I thought I was losing my mind.”
Grandmère chuckles. “ No, child, your mind is intact. The Gris-gris is just giving your heart a nudge because it knows Sinclair’s mind is stubborn and strong. Let them guide you.”
Her words sink in, heavy with meaning, but doubt prickles at the edges of my thoughts. “But guiding me where? To Saul? What if these dreams are just my own longing? Let’s not forget that the man abandoned me on a nationally televised TV show. Well, it will be televised once it releases.”
I pray it never releases.
She reaches across the table, her hand warm and steady on mine. “Tessa, the spirit world doesn’t waste time with foolishness. If you’re dreaming of Saul, it’s because your paths are still meant to cross. But there’s trouble ahead.”
"Trouble?” My voice rises, my heart constricting. “What sort of trouble?"
Her gaze sharpens, her voice low and deliberate. “Obstacles that only you can overcome. I wish I could lay eyes on him. I’d be able to read him within seconds. Spiritualists can do that, you know. You could have this power too if you’d accept it. It’s your birthright.”
I huff. “Grandmère, you know I barely believe in any of this stuff. Let’s not get too carried away. Now, tell me more about these obstacles.”
She chuckles and reaches over to squeeze my hand. “All right, Chérie. Just know that your ancestors want you to be happy. They want you married, rooted, and ready to continue our line. Saul is part of that, but forces from his past are trying to keep him from you. You know, old slew foot the devil, and he doesn’t want you to be happy, Chile. He wants you to be confused, fearful, and bitter. But you can’t fulfill your destiny that way.”
Her words strike a chord deep within me, a mixture of hope and determination tangling in my chest. “So what do I do?”
She leans back, her amber eyes locking onto mine. “The answers are in your blood, in the God-given whispers of your dreams. Trust them, Tessa. Trust the God within you. She never steers you wrong.”
The sun is setting as I step back onto the porch to leave. After giving me advice, we made gumbo and had a nice long visit.
Grandmère ’s words echo, their weight pressing down on me like the humid air.
“Trust yourself,” she’d said. “The answers are in the whispers of my dreams.”
I clutch the pearls at my throat, their smooth surface grounding me. As much as I want to believe her, doubt nips at my heels. Can I trust what I’ve seen in my dreams? Can I trust myself?
The drive back home feels longer than it should. When I reach home, the city is dark, and the streetlights cast long, wavering beams across the pavement.
Inside, my home feels too quiet, too still. I slump onto the couch, my fingers tracing the pearls, the warm beads mingling with the heat pulsing in my chest. Grandmère ’s advice lingers, mixing with the vivid images from my dreams. Saul’s face, his voice, his plea for me—it all feels so real, so urgent.
"All right, Saul," I whisper into the quiet, the words hanging heavy in the stillness. “I’m ready if you are. Find me.”