Searching for Tina Turner - By Jacqueline E. Luckett Page 0,34
chirring of night insects outside the door is the only other sound she hears. She stares at her watch, another gift from Randall, another expensive gift from Randall.
The night he gave her the watch, he insisted that she stretch out her arms and look away. She flinched when the cold metal touched her skin but kept her eyes averted from her wrist. It was the same night she discovered she was pregnant with Kendrick, but not ready for a baby. He hugged her, held her there in the middle of their bathroom; convinced her she would be a wonderful mother. They would be wonderful parents. Trust.
“Dahlin’,” Vernon’s is a voice reserved for church. “If I was gonna steal from you, I’d’a conked you on the head by now, taken your watch, and that big ole diamond ’round your neck, and tossed you down the front steps. Give me your hands.”
Lena picks at the double-locked clasp and puts her wristwatch next to his, then her palms in his hands again while Vernon explains that the metals throw off their magnetic fields. The dimple in his chin—an uncanny resemblance to John Henry’s, along with the same soft edge to his words—sinks deeper into itself when he laughs.
“I feel an energy surge coming from your watch. What’s your husband’s name?” Vernon reaches for a thick green book that resembles a Bible, a ribbon bookmark sewn into its gilded binding. “And his date of birth?”
“Randall’s name is Randall. Birthdate: July 24, 1945.”
Vernon shuffles through the pages. The gray hairs at the top of his head wiggle as he scans a lengthy paragraph. “Your husband is a dogmatic Leo. He is pragmatic. Is that the word? This is his approach to life. He doesn’t understand any other way.”
Lena shudders at Vernon’s truth and inches to the edge of her seat. Pictures, books, furniture, and Vernon spin around her, a blurry montage of color and light.
The pitch of Vernon’s voice raises for the first time since she arrived; he folds his stubby hands over Lena’s palms and pauses, looking more through her than at her. Lena feels the emptiness of his absent finger. “These intertwined lines, see? Independence and forward progression. These movements clash with his. But, forget him. You’re not a delicate woman, but convenience makes it easy to pretend. You are meant to be powerful. Follow your creativity.”
Lena focuses on the small blood spot beside the iris of Vernon’s right eye. She shuts her eyes and processes Vernon’s words. His stare says that he is waiting for her; he will only guide not lead. Tina’s psychics gave her a direct notion—that she would be successful; they offered direction and promise. “Tell me what to do.”
“You have found the star who shines for you; she leads the way. Begin your journey with her. Reconnect with the past. Someone you closed yourself off from is waiting for you.” Vernon beams and points to a bold line in her right hand. “As for me telling you what to do: you already know.”
“Yep, I’m a fool in love.” Lena leans back in the chair. “And I need to accept my life or move on.”
“Don’t indulge in what might have been. Delight in what can be.” Vernon squeezes her hands; his grip is tingly and rough. “You’re stubborn, and you don’t always listen to advice: even your mother has something to offer. Just like the silver ball in a pinball machine spins, moves at the whim of someone else, you move backwards before you understand how far you can go with just a little push.”
“Go ahead. Push me.”
“You don’t need me.” Vernon releases her hands, pulls a monogrammed handkerchief from his shirt pocket, and pats his forehead where perspiration threatens to fall into his eyes. “Step into your power.”
Chapter 10
What smells so good?” Camille plucks a strip of sautéed chicken from a bowl and dips it in the peanut sauce beside it. She is a nibbler, like her mother, though the empty soda cans and candy wrappers in her room attest to her unhealthy choices. “And low lights, too? Hmm.”
“Take this.” Lena feigns a blush and hands fifty dollars to Camille. If only she could send the kids to bed early after a fast food treat of hamburgers and pasty french fries. Compromise with Randall was less complicated when the kids were young. “Dinner and a movie. And where’s your brother?”
Camille tickles Lena’s shoulder. “Glad you and Dad are getting back to normal.”