“Worried? Of course I’m not,” says Eve. “I do not think you’re going to murder me, Dom.”
She puts a potato chip on her tongue and lets the flavors seep into her taste buds. “Although I hope she’s right about you and you live until you’re ninety-three and die of respiratory whatever.”
“Respiratory tract infection,” says Dom. “But I’ll be in jail, right, for killing you? So I’d rather die young.”
“All psychics are fake,” says Eve. “Remember what happened with my parents?”
“Your dad paid off someone?” Dom frowns, trying to remember the story. They know all of each other’s stories. Or she thinks they do, anyway.
“Yes, he bribed a tarot card reader to tell my mum he was the man of her dreams on their second date!”
Her dad always told it as a funny story, which it is not, because he was definitely not the man of Eve’s mother’s dreams, and when he told her the truth after they got married, Eve’s mum felt “deceived,” and they had a big fight, and then he kept right on deceiving her with not one but two other women, and now Eve’s mum has “trust issues” as well as perimenopause.
“Still, that’s just one corrupt psychic,” points out Dom.
“They’re all scammers,” Eve says with absolute confidence. “Anyway, remember a lot of those passengers thought she was just a bit loony tunes, not a psychic at all.”
Remembering the conversations around the baggage carousel makes her think of Dr. Barbara Bailey telling her to drink lots of water. Eve finds the liter bottle she’s kept on the floor next to the bed, due to the lack of a bedside table, and uses both hands to glug back as much water as she can manage.
As she drinks she glances at Dom. He is looking ahead with a vacant expression, munching on chips. She thinks, Uh-oh.
She drops the water bottle on the bed between her legs and swallows a burp. “Are you worried about what the lady said?”
Dom doesn’t look at her. “I wasn’t worried, but last night, in the middle of the night, I woke up and remembered something—and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Eve wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. “You remembered you want to kill me?”
“No.” He’s not laughing at her joke. Not even a little bit. He still doesn’t look at her. “I don’t want to freak you out.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, you remember what happened when we stayed at that Huon Valley caravan park with Liv and Riley, and we were drinking all that red wine and then—do you remember? What I did?”
“What?” Eve can’t think. The caravan was musty. Liv couldn’t stop sneezing. The red wine was disgusting. She and Dom aren’t big drinkers. There was an argument of some sort. Over something stupid. It might have been the moon landing. Had Eve maybe been telling them about Junie’s conspiracy theories? They all had headaches the next day.
Dom looks at her intently. He has the most beautiful brown eyes. She wants a baby boy with that exact color and style of eyes. She might actually have a baby soon. Why not? Babies are so cute, although she’ll train hers not to cry like that one on the plane. Her mother will lose her mind if Eve gets pregnant before she has a “career,” which adds to the appeal.
Dom says, “Remember?”
Suddenly she gets it. “Oh, Dom, no, no, wait, babe, that was funny! That doesn’t mean anything! You don’t need to worry about that!”
Dom folds the top of the chip bag into a firm straight line.
He says, “I am kind of worried about it.”
“Dom.”
He says, “I don’t think it’s funny. It’s not funny at all.”
Chapter 34
My mother once had a customer who was engaged to be married.
She was a sweet, beautifully dressed young woman who was always angling her left hand so her sparkling diamond engagement ring caught the light. She had her cards read every few months and was always early, and she spoke to me like I was a grown-up, not an awkward child, and didn’t require me to say much as she chatted, an endless stream of bubbly detail about her forthcoming wedding, the dress, the bouquets, you know the sort of thing. She glowed with anticipation.
She said it was a shame she would have to give up work with the public service but “the marriage bar” was still in place at the time, which meant she was required to relinquish her job straight after the wedding. (I know. I can’t believe it either.)
I got so caught up in the excitement over this wedding that Mum ended up taking me to the church to watch. It was my first wedding. When the bride and groom kissed I felt faint with the romance of it.
The woman stopped coming for regular readings after that, and I must admit I forgot about her existence, until one day, maybe a year later, I saw her at the shops. I nearly didn’t recognize her. She looked completely different: drab, slumped shoulders, a cardigan that didn’t fit or flatter her. She smiled and waved but didn’t want to talk. I thought, Is that what happens when you can’t work? Is that what happens when you get married?
She died three years after her wedding. There was a house fire. Her husband made it out. He was never charged with her murder, but I heard a lot of talk I wasn’t meant to hear.
Once, I asked my mother, “Did you tell her not to marry him? Did you see this happening?”
I probably sounded accusing.
She said, “I can’t make anyone do anything, Cherry, and I don’t always get it right.”
I don’t think she saw it.
I don’t think anyone at that beautiful wedding could have seen it.
Chapter 35
The first liquid notes of a soulful cover of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” trickle through the church, and all the wedding guests turn to see the tiny flower girl standing in the vestibule, illuminated by the molten light of a perfect April afternoon.
You would not believe this was the same sticky whiny child who threw up over a flight attendant eight days ago. Willow’s face is creamy with self-satisfaction because she knows she looks like a princess. She wears a crown of white flowers in her hair, a royal-blue sash, and a full tulle skirt. She holds a basket of rose petals over one arm.
