“Hola, Esme,” Daria murmurs, sliding the last book into the compact shelves. “Cómo estás?”
“Bien, bien. The belly’s finally starting to come in.”
“I can see that.” She steps back behind her counter like she wants to keep something solid between us. “Did you like the book your husband bought for you the last time?”
“I did. It was very exciting.”
“Your husband could have been the protagonist in that book,” Daria comments wryly. “He certainly looks the part.”
I have to suppress a smile. The crime thriller novel that Artem had picked for me last time featured a burly, growly, overprotective antihero named Malcolm Wolf, an ex-cop who starts working with a notable crime family in order to bury secrets from his past.
Daria has no idea how on the nose she really is.
“He’s a little rough around the edges,” I admit. “But he’s a teddy bear at heart.”
Not exactly true, but Daria doesn’t know that.
She gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Well, as long as he’s good to you.”
“He’s wonderful to me.”
At that, Daria’s smile softens to something more standard for her.
“How’s that sweet little angel doing?” she asks gently, gesturing to the small belly under my white sweater.
“Good.” I nod, patting my stomach affectionately. “I haven’t had a doctor’s appointment in a while, though. It’s the first thing on my to-do list when we get back home.”
I feel a strange tug at my chest when I say those last words.
Home. Where is our home? Do we even have one?
I’ve started to think of the cabin as our home, but I know in my heart that that’s not realistic. Not in the long run.
And even if it did make for a comfortable, long-term residence, Artem would never be content to sit up in the mountains for long.
He needs something to do. Something real.
I’m all for that. His happiness is my happiness, after all.
I just don’t want that “something” to involve a return to the world we were both born into.
The world we were lucky to escape with our lives intact.
“Well, we do have a midwife in town, if you’re interested,” Daria tells me.
“Really?” I ask, perking up immediately. “You do?”
“Although,” Daria adds a little uncertainly, “I’ll be honest, she’s kind of a kook.”
“A kook?”
Daria smiles. “I think the scientific term is, nutty.”
“Nutty is okay, as long as she knows her stuff.”
“She does,” Daria promises. “It is only her bedside manner that is a little unnerving.”
“I don’t mind that,” I say. “It’d be nice to talk to her all the same.”
“Okay then,” she says. “I’ll write down her address for you. It’s not far from here, about a ten-minute drive or so.”
Five minutes later and two books richer, I get back into the car and make my way to an uphill road. It’s barren and desolate, hardly anything growing at all, not even weeds.
That’s not the most promising sign for a woman whose job is theoretically nurturing life.
But I promise myself not to pass judgment too early.
At the peak of the hill is a lone cottage. Almost a shack, really. The front door is painted a violent red color.
I park, uneasy already, and trudge up to it.
I raise my fist to knock, but before I can, the door is yanked open inwards.
I step back with a start as I come face to face with a tall woman with the longest silver hair I’ve ever seen.
She could be anything between thirty and eighty, and she’s dressed in a long, flowing kaftan embroidered with elephants and birds. A dozen different, multi-colored beaded necklaces and chains hang from around her neck and massive hoop earrings adorn her ears, along with several other piercings.
She certainly looks the part.
“Hello,” she greets warmly. “I sensed you were coming today.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You did?”
“Of course. Please come in. I’m Aracelia.”
“I’m Esme,” I say with a hesitant smile.
I follow her into the house. It’s pared back more than I expected, considering her eccentric fashion sense. I’d even go so far as to call it “cute.”
“So, I came because I heard you were a midwife?” I say nervously. I’m wondering if maybe I’d gotten the wrong house.
“I have delivered my share of babies,” she nods. “And I do practice midwifery. As well as many other natural arts.”
I frown. “Like, um…”
“I tell fortunes,” Aracelia says, turning to me dramatically. “I can read people’s auras, perform seances when necessary and communicate with loved ones who have passed.”
I raise my eyebrows. She’s deadly serious. Daria was right—“nutty” is putting it lightly.
But I can’t help but be intrigued. My desire to speak to her about my baby has all but disappeared.
No sense in wasting the trip out here, though, right?
“Can you read my future?” I ask.
“Claro,” she confirms. “For only eight hundred pesos, I’ll give you a full reading.”
I should keep my money in my pocket. Go back home, laugh about this crazy idea with Artem. He’ll tell me I was a fool for ever coming here, and I’d agree.
But I have an itch to do the exact opposite.
And for some reason, that’s the impulse I give into.
“Okay then,” I whisper.
She sweeps an arm to point me into the sitting room.
“Come this way.”
I follow her to an ornate table with a chair placed on either side. I half-expect to see a crystal ball, but there’s nothing in the center of the table except a small arrangement of flowers that smell fresh and fragrant. I can still see the morning dew clinging to some of the petals.
“Take a seat, please,” Aracelia directs me.
I expect her to join me at the table, but she turns around and goes back into the house. While she’s gone, I look around and admire her well-kept garden through the windowpanes.
I notice a pair of eyes on me, and I frown. But when I look, I see it’s just a massive tabby cat staring at me from between two flowering bushes.
“Hey there, little guy,” I whisper.
The cat yawns at me, bored already, and pads away out of sight.
A moment later, Aracelia appears with
