It hits me then why Paul is feeling so crushed. He’s lost someone.
“But now...you miss it,” I provide, filling in the blanks from where he trailed off. He nods solemnly, staring at the mug he keeps twisting in his hands as though it’s a lifeline.
“Came home once, and our couch was missing. I thought maybe we’d been robbed, but Phoebe informed me that an elderly woman moved in down the way and she didn’t have a lick of furniture. So what did she do? She gave her some of ours. Then she went around to our neighbors to see what they could part with.
“I’d just gotten home from a ten-hour day. I was ready to shower, put my feet up, and eat some dinner, but just as quick as I walked in, she told me that we needed to trek across town to pick up a mattress for Ms. Briscoe,” he tells me with a hollow chuckle and a shake of his head. “I was so mad at her, but she wouldn’t hear it. Someone was in need, and that just never happened on Phoebe’s watch.”
“She sounds like the best of souls,” I offer.
“She was,” he agrees, and the battle with his emotions starts anew.
I give him time to grieve, silently lending my support in whatever way I can. I don’t say anything, not wanting to minimize his suffering with useless phrases likeI’m sorryorIt’ll be okay.I know how I felt when my dad died, and there wasn’t a single thing that anyone could do or say that made it hurt any less.
A flash of me sitting in a bathtub, staring dead-eyed at the wall, pops up in my head. Working with Rogan to undo the jinx on Tad unloosened the memory, and now it wants attention that I don’t have the time for. I push the image and thoughts of my father away and focus on the man hurting in front of me as he tries to compose himself.
The velvet pouch of bones warms at my side, and I reach down and untie them from my belt loop. “Paul, can I do a reading for you?” I ask soothingly, tamping down on the nerves that surface as I pull the bag of bones into my lap.
“Like you want to read me a scripture?” he asks, confused and a little testily, and I quickly shake my head.
“No, um...so…it’s more...” I stammer, uncertain how he might take what I’m going to say.
A lot of people think things like this are bad. They get it in their head that it’s voodoo or the work of the devil. Grammy Ruby had way too many stories of people flinging their vitriol at her and what she did. Unfortunately, there’s just no telling where Paul will fall in the spectrum offine with itoroffended. I know if I offer help and he refuses it, my job here is done, but I’m surprised to feel just how vehemently I’m hoping he’ll accept it.
“It may seem a little odd or even unconventional, but I’d like to read my bones for you,” I tell him straight up. I’ve spent a long time resenting magic, of keeping as far away from this world as I could. But it’s time I stop avoiding it or thinking of it as a bad thing myself. It’s time to own it. Good or bad, I’m a Bone Witch.
I place the purple velvet pouch on the table, and Paul stares at it for a moment before his eyes fill with mistrust. My heart drops a little.
“There’s no charge. I don’t want anything from you,” I hurry to explain. “I know this may seem even stranger than a stranger sitting down across from you, but what do you have to lose? I can see that you’re hurting, what if in some small way this can help?” I ask him, gesturing to the waiting bones on the table, my eyes pleading with him to trust me.
His pain-filled blue gaze moves from the purple bag up to me, and after a moment of scrutiny, he sighs and gives me a shrug. “Fine, do whatever.”
Elation slams through me, helping to drown out my worry. I have no idea what this reading will tell him, but I know he needs it. I loosen the strings, opening the pouch. “I’ll need three things from you, Paul, things that mean something to you. I’ll give them back just as soon as I’m done, but it helps me interpret what the bones need you to know.”
He hesitates for a moment, his eyes wandering around the room like he’s wondering who’s watching or what they might think of this whole exchange. I almost think he’s about to change his mind and tell me to get lost, but just as I’m about to try and plead my case again, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a worn-looking penny. Then he pulls a chain from around his neck until a dainty set of rings appears. Carefully he unclasps the chain and pulls the soldered set of rings from it.
I feel tears well up in my eyes at the sight of what I know is his wife’s jewelry, the symbol of her commitment to the man in front of me. I work to blink them away. If Paul can keep it together, then I will too. He gives me the penny and Phoebe’s rings. And then he looks at his hand for a moment before pulling off his own wedding ring and handing it to me.
Despair pours out of his eyes, and I close my hand around his precious totems, my toffee-colored gaze never leaving his. Silently I try to convey how grateful I am that he’s trusting me with these items, with this whole situation in general. Goose bumps crawl up my arms, and I promise Paul with my gaze that whatever happens, I’m here for him. Paul’s breaths come a little quicker, and I can see that he’s losing the battle with his grief. I give him a reassuring nod, and then I get to work.
I place the rings and the penny in the bag and cinch it shut. I close my eyes and shake the bag, imbuing it with my plea to help Paul with whatever it is that he needs right now. I shake until a sense of peace comes over me, and that’s when I know the bones are ready.
I’ve watched Grammy Ruby do this for me and others probably hundreds of times, but just before I open the bag and pour the bone pieces on the table, I’m hit with an overwhelming feeling of purpose and worthiness, and for a moment, it steals my breath away. This is right. This is what I was made for. Grief and appreciation bloom in my chest, but this is not about me right now. This is for Paul, and it’s time to guide his way.
I open the bag and upend the contents. Bone pieces and Paul’s items pour out onto the table in front of me. I give them a moment to settle and for Paul’s gaze to move from the bones back to me, and then I start.
It takes me a second to get my bearings. I’m not sure what to expect, but just like with the other times I’ve needed to use magic, it just seems to come to me. The bones have arranged themselves into little groupings, and I take in the symbols that are showing and where they’re located in relation to Paul’s objects.
Around his wedding ring is every bone that signals death, loss and emptiness. But the ring itself is sitting on bone that has a rising sun carved into it. I take in the positioning of the grouping and give a little gasp, my eyes shooting up to Paul’s.
“You’re going to kill yourself,” I announce quietly, and his eyes don’t even widen with surprise as his head dips into a nod confirming, with no emotion, what I just accused him of. I want to argue with him about why he shouldn’t do it, but I feel the bones warm slightly, and I dutifully turn my attention back down to them.
I trace the death runes and move the circle of symbols surrounding them. “You’re going to take poison or maybe pills,” I tell him. “They won’t work right away like you’re hoping they will though. You’ll be in the hospital for weeks before your family pulls you off life support.”
I look up at him as I say this and don’t miss that his hand drops to his pocket. He looks troubled by this information, but it’s as though I can see him forming another plan instead of being deterred from killing himself all together. I drop my eyes to the bones again. I trace the symbols, and the bones show me flashes of images as I go, helping me to piece the information together.
I move from the bone that has the symbol for hospital on it to the one that represents family and a gathering. All around that bone are bones that represent decision and pain. I look to the right of that grouping and gasp, pulling my hand to my mouth.
“You have a child. A little boy.”
