Do Not Disturb(47)

I like Greta—she’s my only friend right now. She’s incredibly eccentric, with her long silver hair and her propensity to wear nightgowns twenty-four hours a day. But her visits to my room are the only bright spot in my week. She entertains me with stories about her life back in the carnival, or about her childhood back in Hungary. Or about Bernie, the carnie who used to be her husband before he dropped dead of a heart attack.

“Hello, Rosalie,” she says in her East European accent.

“Hi, Greta.”

She cocks her head to the side. “You need to eat more. Soon you will be so skinny, my bad eyes won’t be able to see you anymore.”

I laugh and tug subconsciously at my T-shirt, which was snug when I bought it five years ago, and now is swimming on me. “I’m fine.”

“I will bring you food next time,” she says. “Something I cooked myself. And you will eat every bite.”

“Sure,” I murmur.

She sits beside me—her on the bed and me in my wheelchair. Her eyes rake over me and I shift in my chair. “I don’t like your aura today, Rosalie.”

“Sorry?”

She frowns at me. “I will read your fortune today.”

A sick sensation washes over me. I knew Greta used to tell fortunes in the carnival, but this is the first time she offered to tell my fortune. I never told her about that experience with Naomi, the woman who warned me about the terrible things that would happen if I married Nick.

She was right about the tragedy that changed my life. On the plus side, Nick hasn’t murdered anyone. Not as far as I know, anyway.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” I say.

Greta clasps my hand in hers. It’s cold and bony, the same as the fortune teller at the carnival all those years ago. “Tell me. What is your hesitation?”

“I just think… It’s all sort of silly.”

She studies my face. “No. You don’t think it’s silly. You are afraid.”

I swallow, my mouth suddenly bone dry. “I had my fortune told a long time ago and it didn’t go well.”

Greta’s eyes widen. “Tell me what happened.”

I realize I haven’t told anyone about that day at the carnival. I told Nick part of it, but not the entire story. I have carried it alone all these years.

“She predicted my multiple sclerosis,” I say. “She told me I was going to have a life-changing event.”

Greta waves a hand. “I am not impressed. What else did this charlatan say to you?”

“She told me not to marry Nick.” I bite down on my thumbnail. “Because… she… she said he was going to kill somebody if I did.”

Greta stares at me for a moment. And then she bursts out laughing. “Nick? Kill somebody? Oh, you did not believe that, did you? Nick wouldn’t hurt a fly! He is just as gentle and kind as my Bernie.”

“Well…”

“Listen to me, Rosalie.” Her wrinkled face becomes serious again. “Very few people have the gift. But I do. Let me tell your fortune.”

I say yes. Just to shut her up.

She turns down the lights first, and as the room descends into darkness, she sits down again on the bed beside me and takes my hands in her cold, wrinkled ones. She closes her eyes, and I can feel the gentle pressure on my fingers.

“You don’t use Tarot cards?” I ask.

She scoffs. “Only for charlatans. I do not need them.”

I sit there, in my wheelchair, feeling her icy hands in mine. The pressure intensifies and her eyelids flutter. If Nick were here, he would laugh at this display. He doesn’t believe in any of this stuff. Neither do I. Not really.

Except I wonder what she’s seeing.

“Your future is bright, Rosalie,” she says.

I stare at her. “What?”

“I see happiness,” she says. “I see great joy coming into your life. Joy like you have never felt before. For you and for Nick.”

“Really?” I say flatly.

“I see a happy future for you and Nick. Together. It is your destiny.”

I was more willing to believe Nick could be a murderer. There’s no happy future for me and Nick. Everything is different between the two of us now. I fell in love with Nick because I felt like I could tell him anything. But now it’s like we’re strangers, even though he’s constantly helping me with the most intimate things. He doesn’t look at me the way he did before. And who could blame him?

No, Nick and I will not have a happy ending.

“Right,” I say. “Sure.”

She squeezes my hand in hers. For an old woman, she’s strong. “I lost my Bernie—it was the greatest tragedy of my life. Do not let Nick get away from you. Do not lose what you have with him. You must protect your marriage at all costs.”

I shake my head. “I…”

“Promise me, Rosalie. Promise me you will not let him go. Protect your marriage at all costs.”

Her grip on my hand is so tight, it hurts. I try to pull away, but she’s too strong. Or I’m too weak. “I… I promise.”

She gives me a hard look, then she releases my hand. The imprints of her fingers remain on my skin, darkening into what will become bruises. Greta made me swear not to let him go, but I don’t know what she means. If Nick wants to leave, there’s nothing I could do to stop him.