Page 44 of Miss Belief

I was fascinated with her reading, but even more so with Teagan’s confirmation.

“You will be tested over the next few days in ways you won’t expect.”

Teagan nodded.

Imelda then motioned for my hand again. Taking it into hers, she breathed deeply. “You need to let go of the toxic people in your past.”

I would imagine most people who came into her tent could relate to this advice, but her next words really got my attention for some reason.

“Your past may try to trap you. Don’t let it.”

Well, that was cryptic.

She suddenly took hold of both of our hands, meeting my eyes. “You will have to make the first move with this one. She won’t ever tell you, but she’s shy.”

Whoa. That one was way off base.

Suddenly, she let go of both our hands. “Have a good night, my friends.”

In other words, she had others to get to. I slipped her a twenty-dollar bill. “Thank you for the reading.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Teagan and I didn’t speak until we were outside, away from Imelda and the long line of people now forming to see her.

“So, that was interesting.”

She expelled a long breath. “Yeah. She must throw spaghetti against the wall in hopes something sticks.”

“Right, like the thing about you being shy. Obviously, that’s not true.” I could totally see Teagan making the first move when it came to a man. There wasn’t a timid bone in her body.

“Yep. Me, shy? Can you imagine?”

Yet she didn’t sound convincing, which made me pause. Could it be possible she actually was shy when it came to making the first move with a man?

“I have to admit, the fact she knew I like options was creepy.”

“And it’s something I hadn’t guessed. Why do you enjoy options?” Getting to know Teagan was like discovering a small thread you could pull on in order to unravel a string of more information.

“When I was little, I didn’t get to choose what I ate for meals, what clothes I wore, or even whether or not I wanted to go into foster care. So I suppose having options, even if they’re small ones, gives me comfort. I know I get to make a decision instead of having no choice.”

What she said made sense. Her unpredictable childhood with a drug addict mother must have given her very few choices.

“Sorry, it’s stupid.”

My voice was thick with an emotion I didn’t want to name. “I don’t think it’s stupid at all.” I recalled the way her face had lit up at the number of movies available and the various menu options on the flight. No wonder she’d been so happy.