37 - Zee Truth

“No.”

“Yes, Jon.  You promised.”  Sheridan reminded under her breath, shoving the recalcitrant Indian-giver under Madame Zizska’s canopy.  She was amazed how obstinate he’d become once they’d gotten a glimpse of Madame Zizska.  Expecting to find an ancient gypsy-esque woman in a turban with a huge wart on her nose, both of them had been temporarily rendered mute when catching sight of the tiny woman – girl – stationed at the purple-velvet-draped table.

“That’s when I thought there was a grownup doing this, not my daughter’s roommate.”

Having been quicker to recover her composure, Sheridan decided that she didn’t care what the mousy little fortune teller looked like.  So what if she could pass for an Ivy League college student in her pin-striped, button-down shirt and khaki shorts?  It wasn’t like she had to have a license to make this stuff up, and a good theatre major could be even more entertaining than a stereotypical fortune teller.   

Chewing her bottom lip with careful consideration she gave the plain, mousy girl another once-over.  Harvard had a Theatre program, didn’t they?

“Not only am I psychic, I can hear, too,” the bespectacled young woman informed Jon dryly.  Flipping her long, unremarkably brown braid over her shoulder, she tucked a tattered receipt into the book she was reading and regarded with eagle-eyed expectation.  “And since my psychic powers tell me that you’re going to do exactly what your girlfriend tells you to do, sir, please…”  A sweep of well-manicured fingertips gestured to the camping chairs positioned in front of the table.  “Have a seat, and tell me what you’re curious about.”

“I’m curious as to how much you’re ripping people off for,” Jon muttered, slumping into the nearest of the two chairs and draping his wrists over his knees.  Eyes wandering aimlessly, Sheridan knew he would’ve done a quick about-face if she hadn’t prompted him into the chair with a gentle nudge.

Even as she was nudging, she’d had to bite the inside of her jaw to keep from laughing at his increasingly familiar little-boy sullenness.

“You’re stifling my energy, sir.  I’m through talking to you.”  She pointedly swiveled her elfin chin to Sheridan.  It was stunning how her whole countenance changed when wide lips curved into a thoughtful smile.  “You, though.  You really are curious about something.  What is it you want to know?”

Jon leaned back in the chair, wide-spread knees bouncing on impatient toes as he smothered a snort with his hand.  He was visibly unimpressed by the plain brown wrapper around the mystical Madame.

“I… I don’t know, Madame Zizska.”  Sheridan considered with a frown as she perched on the edge of the vacant camp chair.  “There wasn’t anything specific.  Your sign just caught my eye.”

The girl’s smile was kind, as though she were explaining to a small child that the grass was green.  “Please call me Zee.  The sign caught your eye, because you’re wondering about something in your future.”

Jon muttered something Sheridan couldn’t understand, but that earned him a psychic stink-eye from the pint-sized purveyor of premonitions.  He cleared his throat and spoke more plainly.  “Could we move this along?”

“Be patient, sir, and I’ll even answer your question.”

His head whipped up with a surprised frown.  “What question?  I don’t have a question.”

“Of course you do.  Everybody has questions.”  She returned her attention to Sheridan and leaned forward over the card table, holding out a petite palm.  “May I have your hand please?”

Sheridan was fully enamored with the girl who was treating this as practically as a medical appointment instead of some ethereal rite of mysticism.  It seemed the most natural thing in the world to do as Zee bade.   

When she had possession of the requested hand, Zee shoved her wire-rimmed glasses further up onto her nose and studied the lines in Sheridan’s palm.  She traced a clear-polished fingertip along each of the deepest creases, inspecting them closely for a long moment before slowly rotating Sheridan’s hand to look at the side.  A serious pucker dug a miniature trench between the sorceress’s eyebrows, and she turned the hand again, to rove astute eyes over the knuckles and back of Sheridan’s hand. 

“I see a woman who has always lived in the light of what others think and expect of her.  Always examined every possible consequence and weighed every decision. Prepared for the worst possibility in every situation. Set a goal and made a plan to achieve that goal.  A rule follower until she was made to break the rules.  Now she sees that life won’t end if a few rules are broken.  It’s giving her new eyes with which to view the world, and she likes her place in that world.  That’s who I see you as.”

The analytical synopsis was uttered in a soothing monotone while lightly tracing each line on the front and the back of Sheridan’s hand.

My God, this girl really is psychic.  Either that or I’m as easy to read as an eye chart.

“As for the future, I have good news and bad news,” Zee continued in the clinical vein of a medical appointment.  She didn’t release Sheridan’s hand, but cradled it in between hers as she locked a sympathetic, pale-gray gaze on into Sheridan’s eyes.  “The good news is… that which you desire will be yours.  The bad news is that it will not be an easily travelled path.  Roadblocks and trials will come in many forms, testing you and your heart along the way, the most significant of which is that of an innocent child.  I can’t shake the overwhelming presence of a child in your life.”

The girl squeezed her hand reassuringly when a chill raced down Sheridan’s spine, turning the sixty-degree California day into a sub-zero New York winter.

Was this a generic fortune telling spiel that Zee had prepared for the masses?  Or was she answering the question Sheridan was too embarrassed to voice in front of Jon?  The one her inner twelve year old was screaming at the Magic 8 Ball clutched in her hormonally charged hands? 

Will Jon and I be together forever?  Or at least for a good while?

If it was specifically geared at Sheridan and her ‘desire’… what about those roadblocks and trials?   And…

When she was able to make her slackened jaw work again and form words, Sheridan could only think of one thing to ask.  “A… child?” 

“Jesus.”  Jon had remained respectfully silent up until that point, but the snarkily hissed epithet summarized his opinion of the services rendered thus far.  If there was any doubt, it was erased by the heavy ‘slap’ of his palm coming to rest on the table.  He was ready for this to be over.

Zee’s fingers seized tightly over Sheridan’s hand, and her eyes widened almost imperceptibly when they darted to his features made stony with doubt and mistrust.  “Don’t ridicule.  I now know that the child will be yours.”

A thousand frantic muscles contracted mercilessly in Sheridan’s womb when he pinned her with eyes that were nearly arctic blue in their ice-cold disapproval. 

“Is this a cute way of telling me you aren’t really on birth control and are trying to get pregnant?”

“No!”  She snatched her hand from the preppy witch wanna-be and whirled on him, completely aghast and insulted.  “I can’t believe you would think that, much less say it.”

Zee took the opportunity to interrupt and extended an arm across the table to forcibly latch onto and flip Jon’s hand.  She was only able to garner a quick glance at the meaty palm before he re-appropriated it with a disgruntled huff.  Curling it into a fist, he planted it on his knee and scowled at an unflappably serene fortune teller.

“You…”  The gray eyes went from speculative to piercing.  “…should believe what your heart tells you.  Friends will act as enemies in turbulent times, but there is one person on whom you can trust to speak the truth.  Keep an open mind and spirit.”

“Alright.  I’ve had all the fun I can stand.”  Jon pushed to his feet, and dug out his wallet with jerky motions.  “I can’t believe I’m going to pay for this garbage.”

“Well, you don’t have to,” Sheridan retorted quietly, still stung that he believed she would entertain such devious thoughts.  “I’ll reimburse you when we get back to the hotel.”

“Zelda?  What is wrong?  Why is there unrest in my tent?”  The softly accented voice put an immediate stop to the squabbling.  All three heads swiveled to the diminutive woman in the brightly colored skirt and top, with the huge gold hoop earrings.  The woman with the long, salt-and-pepper hair and dark eyes, who looked every bit the stereotypical gypsy.

“Grandma.”  Zee’s eyes darted nervously between her grandmother and their customers.  “I thought you wouldn’t be back for another hour or so.”

“And that is why you have decided to gypsy around and stir an argument?  Because I was not here?  You know better than to use the gift to call trouble.”  She shook a gnarled finger at the younger woman and then regarded Jon and Sheridan apologetically.

“I am Madame Zizska, and I apologize for the turmoil that Zelda has created, however unintentionally.”

“Zelda?” Jon couldn’t resist jibing with a half-smile.  “As in ‘The Legend of Zelda?’”

“My father designed the game,” Zee muttered with a roll of her eyes, before defending herself to the family matriarch.  “I said nothing but the truth, Grandma.”

“The truth has many meanings and interpretations.  It is not our place to assume the first interpretation is the best or most significant.”

“It’s alright.  She’s an insightful young woman,” Sheridan assured Madame Zizska, and then harshly bumped her foot against Jon’s.  “Given then proper respect and attitude, I’m sure her comments would be received as very relevant and astute.”

All three woman turned expectant eyes on him, causing him to dip his head and shift uncomfortably.  “Yeah, it’s okay,” he finally relented with a rueful laugh.  “My attitude sucked, so I was looking for something to be ticked about. Here.”  A hundred dollar bill curled in the ocean breeze when he offered it to the younger of the two women.  “It wasn’t garbage and I’m perfectly willing to pay for it.  I’m sorry.”

Zee glanced at her grandmother, but firmly shook her head.  “Thank you, but I can’t accept that.  It’s not my feelings that you hurt.”

Sheridan took the money from his hand and made her own effort at paying.  “Please.  Take it.  You gave a wonderful palm reading.  I assume you’re talking about my feelings being hurt, but I assure you they aren’t.  They would be hurt if you didn’t take his guilty offering, though.”

“Please take it,” Jon encouraged, slipping an arm around Sheridan’s waist.  “I’m gonna make things right with her, but I need to make them right with you first.”

The humble admission was a balm to her wounded pride, and she waggled the bill at Zee with a wink.  “Go on.  He’ll pay me, too.  I promise.”

After receiving a subtle nod from her grandmother, Zee captured the money between her thumb and forefinger, pushing it into her pocket.  “Thank you, and good fortune to you.”

Jon and Sheridan returned the thanks as they linked fingers and strolled from the tent, talking quietly as they ambled down the pier. 

Zizska rested a bony hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder and the two watched after them, pleased to see that the couple seemed to be no worse for the wear after their visit. 

“I couldn’t see if they will survive what’s ahead of them,” Zee complained with an unhappy frown.  “I tried, but I don’t know what the outcome will be.  The clouds were too dark and too thick.”

Madame Zizska flounced down into one of the camp chairs with a heavy, contemplative sigh.  Wise old eyes sought out young, wistful ones with a sad smile.  “Sometimes, my child, you don’t see because there is no more.  Perhaps their future has yet to be determined.”