I retraced the memory as I stared out at the busy street. Something was tugging at me. What about the years after that? I settled on the stool and sipped my coffee. Why did it even matter? I hated the parade because I hated crowds, and other than the one year I’d dragged Eileen, we’d avoided downtown every Saturday for the annual festival. Every Saturday. The parade days.
Suddenly, I spied a tall man with blond hair weaving through the throng. I dashed to the window and peered out. Where’d he go? There! Beside the ice cream shop! No. This guy was shorter, and nowhere near the physical perfection of Sal.
Frustrated, I returned to my seat and had just picked up my cup when my mind unlocked the rest of that long ago day. The rich images and sounds burst around me, bombarding me with details of the parade, my grandmother, and . . .
Warm liquid drooled across my fingers.
You’re spilling.
I set the coffee down and fumbled for the cloth under the counter. How? It couldn’t be.
It was.
Someone else.
It wasn’t.
But that was thirty years ago . . .
The cloth fell to the floor.
My resurgent memory was absolute. On that sultry, chaotic morning, I’d spotted him. He’d been across the street, on the other side of the floats passing by, but even my child-self had noticed how unusually tall and beautiful he was. He’d been watching the crowd. Definitely not the floats. He’d only looked at the people.
How had I forgotten? How could I have seen Sal three decades ago? He didn’t look old enough to have even been born then! My throat constricted, and gray crept into my peripheral vision. He’d been out of place among all the cheerful faces. I’d been frightened and had opened myself up to see my angels . . .
. . . and had seen the dark energies, instead.
My empty lungs ached as my brain stuttered between shock and breathing. The dark things hadn’t been clustered around Sal like they’d been around Cara. They’d been moving—swarming—around a woman near him.
I hadn’t been able to see her very well, just a glimpse of dark hair and skin, and then a float had blocked my view. I’d tried to get my grandmother’s attention and her response had been drastic.
She’d followed the line of my pointing finger, and then cracked like a whip, snatching me up and recoiling into the crowd. The whole way home she’d repeated over and over that I should never, ever trust a man like that. That if I ever saw him, or anyone who looked like him, I should stay out of sight. Don’t let him see you. Don’t call attention to yourself. Do you understand, Lilith Ann?
I swayed on the stool.
Breathe, Lila.
Sucking in a deep breath, then another and another, my dizziness subsided. Everything was in focus. It all made sense. I plunked my elbows on the counter and slumped over the nearly empty cup, head in my hands and hair cascading around me. Cocooned with my thoughts and the faint smell of coffee, I grunted. So that’s why I didn’t like blond men.
I’d been terrified at Mimi’s reaction, convinced I’d done something wrong, that the man had seen me and was going to come get me. Get me and do what, I hadn’t known. I still didn’t know—but my grandmother had.
Had fear made me forget? I could recall such definitive minutiae now. The Azalea Belles in their antebellum finest, their dainty wrists twisting with graceful waves. One of the Junior Misses had been right before their float, her dress sparkling in the sun as she waved from her perch on a red ‘Vette. The heat, the crowds, the music, and the woman’s brown skin. I’d only seen the curve of her cheek, but I’d thought it was pretty and smooth like a chocolate drop in the candy case at the department store.
And, of course, now I remembered Sal. Cold and detached, with a halo of sunlit blond hair. Like a terrifying angel from the Bible come to collect sinners for Judgment.
Had I told my parents . . . ? No. Maybe Mimi had, but I hadn’t. Not even my dad, and I always told him everything. I couldn’t remember why I hadn’t told him, or asked him why Mimi had been so upset; but, then again, my mother had been really sick that year.
I bit my lip. Enough reminiscing. Clearly, Sal was either the spitting image of his father, or . . . or . . . or what? I shivered, but coffee couldn’t fix this. I drew my knees up, feet wedged on the top rung of the stool as I hunched over the counter. My elbows jittered on the lacquered surface as my bones quaked with chills. Forget super-vision and general weirdness. Sal was responsible for the darkness I’d seen around Cara.
No. Some piece of information was missing. It had to be missing. I was shuddering now, so hard that the stool shivered with me. I spread my elbows further apart for balance and pressed the heels of my hands against my temples. The dregs of my coffee didn’t offer any insight. Too bad I hadn’t ordered tea.
Easy, Lila. World’s a strange place. Hell, you’re a poster child for “strange”. There’s room for it all in this world. Get a grip. Think.
“Lila, honey?”
My head snapped up, and I blushed to see a familiar wrinkled face and piercing blue eyes.
“Miss Hester! I’m so sorry! I didn’t hear you come in!”
“Sweetheart, you alright? I stepped out to get a little taste of the excitement and saw—”
“I’m fine!”
“So I see. Of course you are, dear. You know . . . ” she tilted her head as I stood up and smoothed my blouse, “ . . . you look just like your grandmother when you do that.”
“Um . . . do
