Chapter Twenty Three
Ophelia woke to the morning sun streaming across her face.
Refusing to open her eyes just yet, she stretched and inhaled the morning air.
The familiar smell of the old Pine House tingled her nostrils.
Rolling over, she sighed into her pillow, feeling utterly exhausted.
Her bra was digging into her flesh. She must have forgotten to take it off last night.
Her eyes involuntarily widened as the memory of yesterday slammed into her.
Heart racing, she sat up in bed. She must have been asleep since yesterday afternoon.
She scrubbed her palms over the puffy skin of her face as she doubled over, letting dread consume her. She could not remember what happened after the Passing. But here she was, in her bed, so she could only assume she got here of her own volition.
Ophelia examined her clothes, the same ones she wore the day before. She was relieved to see they lacked vomit stains. She lifted an arm and sniffed. A putrid smell emitted from her body. Ugh.
She checked her phone, which had been placed on the nightstand and plugged into its charger.
Ophelia doubted that she had the wherewithal to charge her own phone yesterday.
She tapped the phone’s screen and saw that it was half past seven in the morning, and she had two notifications: a text from Mateo and an email from Jade. She’d have to read them later.
In addition to the fully charged phone, two ibuprofens and a glass of water sat waiting for her on the nightstand. Ophelia barked a laugh and shook her head. Etienne. She was sure that he arranged her nightstand with the necessities. His type-A personality wouldn’t have been able to resist it.
Ophelia moved on wobbly limbs to the shower.
She desperately wanted to know what happened yesterday, but similar to a crazy night out, she wondered if the truth was too much for her to handle in the raw hours of the morning.
But something told her that the details of her Passing would be unavoidable.
She assumed the Passing worked, though she didn’t feel more magical.
She felt like shit, honestly. The steam began to surround her, loosening her limbs further.
She suddenly felt faint and needed to sit down.
Her arms wrapped around her bent legs as she faced the rear of the shower, letting the angry pelts of hot water on her back bring her back to life.
A memory of her tiger surfaced. It was there yesterday. She must have been in a bad way if her protector showed up. She smiled at the thought of her protector answering her call.
While remaining seated, Ophelia scrubbed her scalp and moisturized her long tresses with conditioner that she was certain was at least ten years old. She scrubbed her flesh raw, paying particular attention to her face and armpits.
Ophelia cautiously got out of the shower, still weak with exhaustion.
Suddenly, her thirst was so overwhelming she couldn’t even get dressed to grab water from the kitchen, and instead dunked her head under the sink to let the cool water run over her tongue and down her throat.
She was lapping at it like a dog. Satisfied, she gathered her towel and looked at herself in the mirror—puffy eyes and pallid skin.
Yikes. She was in desperate need of more water and food.
It took effort to put on a pair of fresh leggings and a top. She had to rest on the bed between pulling on articles of clothing. Ophelia padded into the kitchen where Lucille was making breakfast, pain perdu, or what Ophelia and her sisters as children called “panpazoo.”
“Morning,” said Ophelia.
“Morning, hun,” said Lucille. “I’ll make you a plate. Coffee is on.”
Her grandmother sat at the kitchen table, tapping away on her iPad. She didn’t look up at her as she entered the room. Maybe she hadn’t heard her walk in.
Ophelia poured herself a glass of water from the Brita pitcher in the fridge and drank it all in two gulps.
She poured another. Two gulps again, and it was gone.
Another pour. This time, she slowed to sip.
Her body thanked her by easing some of the tension it had been holding in her gut.
She next poured a mug of coffee, topping it with sugar and cream from the counter.
With her two containers of liquid, she sat down at the table.
“Morning,” said Ophelia again with more volume.
“Well, good morning, dear,” said Mawmaw, putting down her iPad. “I see you’ve finally stopped crying.”
“Huh?”
“Crying. All yesterday evening.” Mawmaw hummed. “You don’t remember?
“No…” Ophelia said with wide eyes.
“Oh yes, hun, you were carrying on and on and on. For hours into the night. Crying like a baby. No, worse than a baby.”
“I…I cried?” Ophelia asked, touching her eyes. That explained the puffiness. Mawmaw nodded slowly in response. “Did I do anything else? Vomit? faint?”
“Nope, just cried and cried and cried. That young man tried for a long time to get you to stop. Treated you for all sorts of ailments. He struggled to find the root cause of all of your tears, but I guess he eventually got you to stop. I went to bed.”
“You went to bed?” exclaimed Ophelia. “You just left me to cry with Etienne?”
Mawmaw chuckled. “Hun, I stayed up till ten o’clock with you. That’s well past my bedtime, and you know it. Besides, Brutus said you’d snap out of it eventually, and maybe you just needed a good cry.” Mawmaw tsked. “It was a good cry, all right.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Whoo, girl. Like I said, you were carrying on and on. Wailing, pulling your hair, scratching your skin. You were in a fetal position for the most part. Etienne decided to move you into your bedroom, and then him and Brutus helped me get to bed. But you kept going on.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Mm-hmm. Etienne drove Brutus home and got him settled, and then came back here to see if he could try any other treatments on you. No idea how long he stayed, but look! You’ve stopped crying.”
Ophelia groaned and placed her head on the cool tabletop. She supposed it was better than shitting herself or vomiting in front of Etienne.
“I am so mortified,” she grumbled into the table.
“Well, yes, I suppose you are.” Mawmaw took a big sip of her coffee. “Oh, Etienne said he could sense your tiger, so that was interesting. Do you remember your protector from last night?”
Ophelia raised her head to Mawmaw. “I do remember my tiger being lovely and non-judgmental by the ultimate terror and pain rippling through my body,” she said dripping with sarcasm and shoved her face back into the dark cradle of her arms on the table.
“Mm-hmm. Etienne was also quite lovely and non-judgmental about the whole thing.”
Ophelia refused to honor her comment with a response and kept her head down. Mawmaw chuckled to herself.
“Are you gonna make me miserable all day?” asked Ophelia. “Perhaps I should spend my day practicing. Like, is it possible to give you more arthritis in those fingers? Or does my gift only treat? I feel like I should try, yes?”
“Ha-ha,” Mawmaw deadpanned. “You are such a grump. Now, do you want to treat some people today? Find out if you took to the Passing? ’Cause I’m going to church here in thirty minutes, and everyone is gonna wanna see you and ask all the questions.
Some may even trust that cute face of yours enough to treat them. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“That would be something all right,” she said, suddenly recharged at the thought of her newfound treating abilities. “Okay, I’m gonna get ready.” Ophelia refilled her coffee, grabbed a slice of pain perdu from the stack, and went to her room to change.
After emerging from her room clad in a baby blue slip dress and a tan cardigan, Ophelia helped Mawmaw into the old Lincoln. Ophelia drove, naturally. Mawmaw knew she wasn’t allowed to drive, but still argued with Ophelia about it. The old woman was persistent in her persistence.
Ophelia pulled off the oyster-paved road and headed into town toward the church.
“So do you feel anything different?” asked Mawmaw.
“Ya know, I don’t think so. I still feel like I’m in a haze. Almost hungover, and my body is exhausted. Don’t judge me if I fall asleep during mass.”
Mawmaw hummed in acknowledgment.
“Am I supposed to feel different?”
“You will. Your gift is still settling. When you start to use it, you’ll see. I won’t spoil it for you.”