Amen Maxine by Faith Gardner

Author:Faith Gardner [Gardner, Faith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798985924534
Publisher: Mirror House Press
Published: 2022-07-22T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

THE TRUTH

I would be remiss if I neglected to mention that, while Maxine has been spot-on with most predictions so far, there have been a few misses.

Last week she predicted Michelle would start crawling. So far, Michelle’s done nothing but hover on all fours.

A few days ago, Maxine predicted I would receive a phone call from an old friend. All I got that day was a spam call from a robot pitching me low hotel prices.

And the day before yesterday, Maxine predicted my internet would go out, but it never did.

These instances replay in my mind to calm myself as I drive toward 328 Bush Street listening to a song about apples and bananas. Down the quiet streets, cars snug in driveways, the muted, golden lights of curtained windows. Though GPS tries to get me to take the freeway, I take the side streets. It’s only a three-mile drive from my house. Bush Street is on the other side of our Whole Foods. Holding in my sobs, throbbing with hurt, I am a volcano ready to explode.

I turn the car into a labyrinth of tract housing, identical tan McMansions with lawns and one single tree out front, slowing the car to a sharky creep as I squint at the numbers. Finally, I park at the curb in front of 328.

“She could be wrong,” I say. “She’s been wrong before.”

Checking the rearview, I see Michelle has fallen asleep. She’s painfully beautiful back there, her long lashes and plump cheeks. How grateful I am that she has no idea about any of this, that she can’t detect trouble yet.

I slip out of the car, closing the door as quietly as I can. I cross the lawn toward the house, automatic lights awakening to spotlight me. My shadow cast upon the clipped lawn is stretched thin, dark, and leads me straight toward the door—where, propped against the mailbox, I see Jacob’s bike. That’s when I finally begin to weep, a soundless weeping that simply aches throughout my entire body, my tears a horrible, salty rain warming my face.

My finger presses the video doorbell button with a buzz, the screen lighting up. I step back and glare at the screen.

Behind the door, I hear rustling sounds and a low, muffled voice that I immediately recognize as Jacob. I get a plummeting feeling.

“Some woman,” I hear a female voice call. “It might be my neighbor.”

The door unlocks with a beep and opens.

There she is. In pajama shorts and a tank top with no bra. That woman who came to my house for my baby’s half-birthday party. That woman we spotted at the Jolvix Valentine’s party.

Carrie, his co-worker, just like Maxine said.

The worst part? She doesn’t appear to recognize me. I’m no one to her. I’m a stranger. A pathetic stranger sobbing on her doorstep at nearly 10 p.m.

She has a look of alarm on her face. “Hi … um, are you okay?”

“I want you to see something,” I say, my voice shaking.

“Oh my God. What’s happening? Is everything all right?” she asks.

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