The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [100]
“I am?”
“Do you have a green dress?”
“A—? No, I don’t think—”
“A green blouse? A green T-shirt?”
“Um, I’ve got a T-shirt that says ‘Everybody loves an Irish girl.’ ”
“Yes, yes, I knew it. With shamrocks on it.”
“Wow! Yeah!”
“This is what you will be wearing when you tell Bob it is time for him to go. Oh, I see it, it is so very, very clear.”
Molly hardly ever gave advice this specific—too dangerous, not to mention arrogant—but she’d heard enough about smarmy, lying, despicable Bob to have not a single qualm in Donette’s case. They went over the scene, what she would say, all the possible arguments Bob might use, until Donette said, “Okay, I got it,” and Molly thought this time she really might. “But can’t I call you up after? Just one last time, to tell you what happens?”
“ Alas, dear one, I will not be here.” As of midnight tonight, the psychic line would be kaput. “But don’t worry, all will be well. I had a vision of a small bird, a sweet little bird, darting out of her cage and taking flight. Flying high, free and happy. At last, enjoying the life she was meant to live!”
Maybe it would work. Donette sounded hopeful by the end of the call, and steady enough to thank Molly for “all your help, all these weeks. I’d’ve been lost without you.” Maybe she’d do better on her own, no sympathetic Gypsy ear on the other end of the line, constantly soothing, constantly reassuring. Tough love. She’d certainly be richer.
Charlie called while Molly was loading the contents of her bathroom cabinet into a cardboard box. “Oliver’s trying to get ahold of you.”
“Oh?”
“You avoiding him or something? I think he’s depressed.”
“Charlie, I’m so busy right now, can I call you back? In a few days?”
“A few days?”
She hadn’t told him about the move, the fate of her house. Not for any particular reason. Except that she found the whole subject nauseating. “I know, I’m sorry, it’s just that it’s such a busy time for me right now.”
“Sure, sure. You got a life.”
“Oh, Charlie.”
“What? I get it—you’re young, gorgeous, you got better things to do. It’s not a problem.”
“Would you stop that? I’m moving.”
“Moving! Where to?”
“A smaller place—easier to take care of. Also, I’m giving up the psychic line. Tonight, in fact.”
“How come?”
“But you can still call me, of course. How come? Oh, Charlie, I need a real job. A full-time job that pays, you know, real money. So I’m taking the summer off from school and starting on Monday. It’s a job in phone sales.”
“That’s crazy. Although you got the voice for it.”
“Listen, Charlie. I tried to tell you this once before, but you didn’t hear me. The thing is—I don’t think I’m actually psychic.”
“Oh, pshaw.”
“No, truly. It runs in the family, but I don’t think it runs in me.”
“So you mean . . .” She could hear him processing the news. “You mean . . . nobody’s thinking about me?”
“See, here’s where it’s confusing. I feel very strongly that someone is thinking of you. A meaningful woman, someone who could change your whole life.”
“Oh. Whew. Okay, then.”
“But I don’t know where it’s coming from! Because, God knows, if I were psychic, I’d’ve done something about my own life before . . . well, anyway.”
“Before what?”
She laughed. “Nothing, I’m not in too great a mood tonight, that’s all.”
“Okay, you listen to me. Are we pals?”
“Of course. Of course we are.”
“Then it goes two ways. Sometimes you help me, sometimes I help you.”
“Oh, Charlie.” She was so touched. “You are . . . so dear to me.”
“Likewise. So what can I do to help?”
“Not a thing. Honestly. Except what you’re already doing—being my friend.”
“No problemo. Okay, here’s what you can do for me.”
“What?”
“Take my obnoxious grandson’s call.”
After that, every time the phone rang and it wasn’t Oliver, she felt let down. Not that she would’ve spoken to him anyway, but it had given her a small lift—very small on this, the lousiest day of her life—to be the one not talking. And now he wouldn’t even call her so she could not answer.
She’d have called her aunt, who always cheered her up with something