Page 3 of The Second Sight
“She’s gone...” he whispered, and let out a chuckle of disbelief. “I can’t believe it.”
He blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. My strong father, who fixed everything from broken toys to scraped knees, looked utterly lost.
I reached for his hand, gripping it tightly as we sat together on the couch, united in our shock and grief. Neither of us spoke again for a long time. What was there to say? The person who completed our little trio had cut herself out of the picture, leaving us with nothing but a note covered in stupid purple ink and a thousand unanswered questions.
In that moment, I made a silent decision. I would tell my best friend Brooklyn about my dream, my vision, whatever it was. But no one else. Not even Dad. Especially not Dad. He had enough to deal with without me telling him about a strange African man chasing Mom through a forest or jungle. I’d kept my dreams locked away from him. My best friend already thought I was weird. I couldn’t believe I was going to tell Brooklyn I dreamt my mother left me. Then I woke up from the dream, and it was true.
On that day, Tuesday, I made a vow. I wouldn’t forget. I couldn’t forget. Because somewhere, deep down, I knew my dream was the key to understanding why Mama had really left us.
Chapter
One
KASI
SIX YEARS LATER
Ihadn’t planned on celebrating my twenty-first birthday. Birthdays sucked for obvious reasons, but Brooklyn insisted we do something special. She drug me through the streets of Chicago like someone who refused to let her best friend wallow in grief.
Six years without a mother, and birthdays still felt like reopening a wound that never fully healed. Brooklyn knew this, which was why she’d shown up at my house that morning with coffee and donuts. She demanded that I put on something cute for a day of shopping and whatever else twenty-one-year-olds were supposed to do in Chi-town.
“We need to hit at least three more stores,” Brooklyn announced. Her raspy voice cut through the downtown noise as we navigated the crowded sidewalk.
“How about two more?” I offered a compromise that I was sure she was going to ignore.
Her dark eyes rolled, reminding me why we’d been best friends since sixth grade. She was going to force me to get outand have fun. I was going to pretend to have fun. It was a win-win for the both of us.
“Kasi, your current fits are old. You needed new clothes.”
I shifted my shopping bags to my other hand, my shoulders already aching from the weight of all this stuff. “I think four bags of stuff is enough for one day.”
“It’s your twenty-first birthday. We still need to get you a freakum dress.” Brooklyn bumped her hip against mine, nearly sending me into a businessman hurrying past. “Besides, your dad gave me strict instructions to make sure you had fun today.”
My dad, he tried so hard, especially on birthdays and holidays. Six years later, he still left the porch light on every night, just in case she came back. He never said it out loud, but I knew it was for her. I never stayed out late. Well, I rarely stayed out late.
“Fine, it’s whatever.” I sighed, unable to resist Brooklyn’s infectious enthusiasm. “One more store. Then food. I’m starving. We can go back to shopping after I eat something.”
“Yeah, girl, one more store.”
Brooklyn changed the subject and started describing her latest dating disaster. I found myself smiling despite everything. That was Brooklyn’s gift. She could distract me out of the darkness when I sank too deep. Even as I nodded and laughed at all the right moments, I felt the familiar hole in my throat, the space that opened whenever I remembered that SHE wasn’t here to see me turn twenty-one.
She would never see me graduate from college next term. Never meet whomever I might someday marry. Never hold her grandchildren. The weight of all those nevers pressed down on me, momentarily drowning out Brooklyn’s story about the guy who brought his infant daughter to their first date.
“Oh, he got me fucked up if he thinks I’m going to be a stepmother. Damn girl, you not even listening to me. Kasi,” Brooklyn waved her hand in front of my face. “Come back.”
I blinked, forcing myself back to the present. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About your mama?” Brooklyn’s voice softened, all teasing gone.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. It still felt like yesterday sometimes. The note. The dream. The knowledge that maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t just left on purpose. Maybe she had to really run. Just like in the dream. From what, I still didn’t know. The dreams had stopped after that night, leaving me with more questions than answers and a father who refused to believe his wife was anything but perfect.
“Hey, it’s okay to miss her. But she would want you celebrating today.”
“Would she?” The words came out sharper than I intended.
“I remember her. She had purple hair. Any Black woman confident enough to dye her hair purple loves to party.”
“I guess, but how would I know what she’d want? She left before I even had my driver’s license.”
