Chapter 19 #2
As I watch Elliot disappear inside the antique shop, Jen sneaks up beside us, her lips pursed like she’d been sucking on a lemon for the last hour. I’m stressed already at the sight of my sister.
“So now Cleopatra needs to be carried around by all the eligible bachelors in town?” Jen asks. “You know you’re setting feminism back fifty years, right?”
I roll my eyes and tap Manny on the shoulder. “Set me down.”
“You can walk after all,” Jen says, feigning surprise.
I hobble to the nearby planter. “Aren’t you the least bit concerned about me? I was almost assassinated.”
“Please,” Jen rolls her eyes, “you were hit by a tennis ball.”
I touch the back of my head. “It really hurt.”
“Pain reminds us we’re still alive…”
Okay, I’m not in the mood for my sister’s nihilistic world view at the moment.
With Manny and Paige’s assistance, I hobble my way to the food stalls and help myself to a cup of hot cocoa (on the house).
Aunt Cherry plies me with a hot waffle cone slathered in melted chocolate, so hot it scorched the roof of my mouth.
I’m quickly surrounded by people eager to hear my near-death story. I don’t know where people got the idea that I nearly died. I think I just blacked out from shock. But as the day wore on and I retold and finessed my story for the twentieth time, I was starting to believe that I crossed over…
“… everything becomes very quiet,” I tell my audience, “and your thoughts become extremely clear.”
Before I know it, I’m doing a Q&A.
Does your life flash before your eyes?
I tip my head to the side, trying to remember. “Yes.”
Is it true that you can also see the future?
I consider this question. “It is true.”
What did you see?
“I saw myself in the mayor’s office.”
My vision is met with oohs and aahs.
“Can you tell my future too?” A woman in the front row raises her hand.
“I don’t know.” I touch the lump on my head. “Maybe? Give me your palm…”
“Holly!” Elliot calls from the back of the crowd.
“It’s him!” Someone shouts. A blanket of reverence settles upon the crowd. My audience parts for him.
Glancing from one dreamy face to the next, Elliot moves cautiously toward me.
“Can I touch your coat?” A woman steps forward.
“Um…” Elliot pulls his trench coat closer to his body. “No.”
“Can you tell my future, too?” Another woman asks.
Elliot frowns. “Get a grip, Lady.”
“He’s being rude to me,” she tells the audience, “just like Holly said he would.”
The woman next to her raises her hand. “Do me! Insult me too!”
Now freaked out, Elliot jogs toward me. “What’s going on?” He checks over his shoulder in case the ladies jump him. “Why are they looking at me like that?”
“They think you’re psychic,” I whisper back, and add, apologetically, “I told them about your dream and one thing led to another…”
“I need to speak to you alone,” he says, casting another suspicious glance over his shoulder, “away from your cult.”
“Ladies, that’s it for today!” I cup a hand to my mouth as my audience disperses. “And remember! Wednesdays at my shop for tea and cakes. 10% off Elliot’s Clarity Crystal!”
Elliot arches an eyebrow. “My clarity crystal?”
I can’t help beaming. “I’m starting to think this tennis ball attack was the best thing that’s happened to my crystal business.
Not to mention the election! Call me an opportunist, but everyone saw how that coward Thornberry hid behind those penguins while I took a tennis ball to the head.
What doesn’t kill me… will make me mayor. ”
“You’re a natural politician,” Elliot says dryly.
I would preen at his observation, but I don’t think he meant it as a compliment. “You saved my life,” I say instead. “I just want to tell you how much I appre—”
“You already thanked me,” he says.
“Did I?”
His ears turn pink at the tips. “Yeah.”
Now I remember. I was hoping he forgot. Oh no… Are we really going to have this conversation?
“Elliot, about the kiss…” I stammer. “I got caught up in the moment.”
He clears his throat. “Don’t worry. I get it.”
“Traumatic event and all—”
“Gotcha.”
“About what I said,” I cringe, “I don’t really love you like that. I mean…” I touch my lump. “I got whacked on the head. I don’t know what I was saying. I don’t just fall in love this easily.”
Elliot holds up his hand, flustered. “No need to explain to me.”
I stare at the ground. Elliot chews on his thumbnail.
“Did you find the tennis ball launcher?” I blurt out, desperate to change the subject.
He clears his throat. “I did.”
I wait for him to elaborate. He remains stubbornly silent. I peer at his face. “The culprit…?” I ask at last.
“Gone.” Elliot tilts his head up, contemplating the grey clouds scuttling overhead. “What are you doing on Christmas Eve?”
“Well… I was planning to throw a party, but given the circumstances, I’m not comfortable inviting the same guests to my house, for obvious reasons.”
“Don’t change your plans,” he says. “Send the invites. Throw the party.”
“Elliot?”
A frond of black hair falls over his eyes. “Make sure everyone who came to your Thanksgiving dinner shows up,” he says, poking at a splotch of red paint on the pavement with his shoe.
“Why?”
He lifts his head, looking like the cat who got the cream. “I know who did it.”