Girl Crush(59)

“And that means what?” I questioned again.

“That means you’re finally going to meet Mama Betsy.” Roxie beamed as though she’d just presented me with the Publisher’s Clearing House check.

“Who’s Mama Betsy?” One of these days, one of these heifers would answer my question.

“My psychic,” Beck said those two words as if she were referring to her hairdresser or nail tech.

“Who the hell has a psychic?” Shocked, I didn’t know how else to phrase the question, and now my friend appeared offended.

Ronnie interrupted before Beck could answer. “Just have an open mind, Gizzy. This is supposed to be fun, not life-defining.”

The smile returned to Collier’s sister’s face, and a part of me ached when I stared into the eyes I’d missed so much. The two twins were clearly related. They looked enough alike that no one would doubt their lineage. But their eyes haunted me. I loved the way those same green irises took me in when they were on the face of her sibling.

“I’ve been coming to see Betsy since I was in high school. I met her in a self-help class I took, and she’s been a special part of my life ever since.”

“Was she teaching the class?” I couldn’t help but snort at the thought. A psychic could totally capitalize on the needs of others if she were indeed legit. If not, she would be the biggest con-artist and roll in some serious cash.

Beck rolled her eyes. “No, silly. It was a workshop on positive thinking and changing your perspective by changing your mind.”

Laughing at my friend wouldn’t make this any better, but it sounded like a load of hogwash.

“Seriously, Giselle. Don’t be such a downer. Even if you don’t believe in any of this, you can still have fun going through it and listening to us have our cards read. Plus, Mama Betsy is by far the best cook I’ve ever met, and she doesn’t skimp on the wine. The spread alone is worth coming for.”

I’d never been to a medium. I’d seen them on television, and they fascinated me, but I’d never admit that to anyone. Here I stood with the opportunity in front of me, and I wanted to make the most of it. With my mind made up, I grabbed Beck’s hand and said, “You’re right. Open mind. And I’m always down for wine.”

I didn’t have time to prepare for this, but what I encountered wasn’t what I’d expected. Although, I wasn’t sure what I had thought we’d see when we went into her house. It was modest from the outside, middle-class, nice yard, and there was a swing on the front porch. But nothing indicated a clairvoyant lived or worked here. There was no neon sign, and the woman who answered the door wasn’t wearing one of those funny little hats on her head that looked like a swami.

She was five foot nothing, petite, and I instantly felt at home in her presence. The smell of freshly baked bread mixed with the aroma of chocolate chip cookies flowed out onto the stoop where we stood, waiting to be invited in.

The smile Betsy greeted us with warmed my soul and fed me in a way I’d never eaten before. She engulfed Beck in a motherly hug, and then without so much as addressing Roxie or Ronnie, she moved Beck aside and zeroed her gaze in on me.

“You must be Giselle.” Clearly, my friend had filled her in on the crew she’d be bringing by.

I didn’t know how to respond other than nod. But Mama Betsy didn’t stop there. She nudged her tiny frame past my friends, extending both her hands as she approached me. Not knowing what to do, I glanced at Beck who might as well have had cartoon hearts in her eyes. With no help from her, I gave Mama Betsy a shaky smile and allowed her access to my fingers.

“I’m so glad you’re all here.” She dropped my hands as quickly as she’d taken them, and then turned to the others to corral us inside. “Come in. Come in.”

Her house looked like any other. I didn’t see any curtains in odd places or crystal balls to tell the future or pots with odd brews and smoke rising off the surface. I nudged Beck and whispered into her ear, “Where’s her eye of newt and black cat?”

Beck stopped in her tracks, allowing the other girls to follow after Mama Betsy. “She’s not a witch, Giselle.” My friend looked at me as though I was a moron just before she rolled her eyes.

I ignored Beck and caught up with Roxie and Ronnie on the heels of our hostess. Within minutes, we were all huddled around the bar in her kitchen giggling about nothing with glasses of some of the best wine I’d had in ages. Betsy had laid out a spread of cheeses and crackers, but the baked desserts were screaming at me to taste them. I tried not to make eye contact with the treats, but the pull of the sugar dragged my attention away from the conversation repeatedly. Carbs would be my undoing. And these were the worst possible kind—they were buried in fat and covered in icing. Every single brownie, cookie, and little cake was nothing but a temptation masquerading as pleasure. Bastards.

Betsy must have noticed my visual affair with the platter. Without so much as a word in my direction, she continued talking to the other girls while taking a miniature cake from the tray, placing it on a silver napkin, and sliding it across the counter in front of me. Unable to resist, I picked up the little slice of heaven and bit it in half. The moan that escaped my mouth stopped the hum of conversation, and all heads turned in my direction. A genuine smile, the first in over a week, lifted the corners of my mouth, and my taste buds sang a chorus in perfect harmony. That one bite had been worth the trip across town and the extra mile I’d have to run tomorrow.