Angel Fire - Lisa Unger [40]
She watched him carefully, considered moving closer, but not wanting to call attention to herself, remained seated. He did not look like other congenitally blind people she had seen. She had always thought that the signs of blindness could be seen in a physical deformity of some kind: sunken eyes, an especially large brow, eyes without pupils. Juno looked like someone who had been sighted once, but had lost his vision through some cruel twist of fate. He was peaceful, rapt, moved by this music written for God. She stared at him shamelessly, taking advantage of his blindness, and that all but the priest had their backs turned to her. When his song had finished, the priest said some parting words and the parishioners filed out. They all looked at Lydia in turn, curious, perhaps, at her inappropriate attire. The priest said a few words to Juno and then disappeared behind a doorway. Juno remained, putting his guitar in the case.
She walked toward him, making noise on purpose by clearing her throat.
He looked up. “Hello?”
“It’s Lydia,” she answered.
He smiled. “Lydia, how are you?”
“Curious.”
“About?”
“About what you said the last time I was here.” She was speaking softly because his demeanor, his church, demanded it. But she was feeling like herself again, not afraid, not ashamed like an intruder. She was angry. She felt tough, aggressive. And she felt familiar with him, like she had known him for years.
“We talked of many things.”
“You know what I mean. You said my mother would be happy to know I had come home to God.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. But how did you know to say that? I mean, what do you know about me? What do you know about my mother?”
“Perhaps we should sit down. You’re upset.”
She preferred to stand away but sat beside him in spite of herself. “Just tell me what you meant.”
“Lydia, you have conducted a number of interviews on National Public Radio where you were quite candid about the death of your mother and how it affected you. I could sense when you came to see me that she was very much on your mind and the church had some strong connection to that. I was only trying to help you. I didn’t mean to cause you any more pain.”
She scanned her mind for what she had said in interviews on the air. Would she have mentioned that her mother was a religious person and that she was not? Any moron could have made the inference he made from a statement like that. But she couldn’t remember.
Juno had his head cocked to the side and a questioning look on his face as he waited for her to respond.
Why are you here? She asked herself not for the first time.
“I dreamt of you,” she found herself confessing. She revealed the details of her dream to him.
“Others have claimed to dream of me and a loved one. Some claim that I help them communicate with people on the ‘other side.’ I can’t explain that. But maybe your mother is trying to tell you something.”
This answer annoyed her because it managed to be vague and presumptuous at the same time.
“What do you think she is trying to tell me, Juno? And what do you have to do with it?” She knew that she sounded belligerent.
“Maybe she is trying to tell you to let go of the past,” he said, calmly, not even responding to her angry tone.
“I have let go of the past.”
“Running away from the past and letting go of it, moving forward, are two different things.”
His words were sincere, and they touched her because she knew he was really trying to help her. He was not trying to manipulate her, but she felt invaded, felt herself edging away from him inside, bringing down walls to protect her truth. She wasn’t responding any better to this “psychic healer” than she had to any of her shrinks. Go figure.
What do your dead parents tell you, you smug bastard? The words were poison darts, waiting to be thrown. But she held her tongue, knowing they were