Page 95 of Starrily
Nana removed her glasses, rubbed them with the hem of her tunic, and put them back on. “Callie?”
“Callie,” Mom said.
“Callie,” Aunt repeated.
Raleigh stopped next to her. “That does indeed appear to be her name,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” Aunt asked.
“You’re back,” Mom said at the same time.
“Why’s that boy so pale?” Nana went.
“Momma, you can’t just ask people why they’re white,” Aunt said.
“I ain’t talking about that. His soul is pale.”
“Stop it, you two.” Mom walked around the table and approached Callie, wringing her hands. She paused before her, then leaped into a hug, squeezing her tight.
Callie stood straight, trying to fight back the tears in her eyes. She didn’t even know why she was crying.
“You came back, baby,” Mom whispered when she finally released the hug.
“Now she only needs to explain why,” Nana yelled.
“Why?” Raleigh looked to Nana and then to Callie, raising his eyebrows. “You didn’t tell your family we were coming?”
***
To say Raleigh was overwhelmed would be putting it mildly. Not only was the house itself a sensory overload; there were also the three women, arguing and yelling over each other, and he was still trying to figure out their relations.
The oldest one, sitting at the table, had to be at least eighty; she was thin, with a heavily wrinkled face that contrasted her stark white, frizzy hair. But even at her age, she didn’t appear frail, and her eyes, hidden behind thick glasses, held a lively gleam.
The other two were of a similar age—in their fifties, or sixty, perhaps, and looked uncannily alike. The one hugging Callie had tightly braided hair, pulled into a bun, and wore simple clothes—an oversized cardigan and pants of a washed-out pink. The other wore her hair loose, with a scarf in a bright floral pattern, and tucked her hands into the pockets of her overalls as she stood from the table.
The woman next to Callie looked at him—a quick, cursory glance, but he couldn’t help but feel he was being studied. “You’re damn right she didn’t tell us anything. Won’t even respond to our texts, and now here she is, appearing on our doorstep in the middle of the night like she’s about to snatch our souls away.”
“Mom,” Callie muttered.
“Penelope, but you can call me Penny,” the woman said, offering him a hand.
“Raleigh.”
“Raleigh,” she repeated after him, stretching out thea. “Mind spelling that for me?”
“I’ve been here for one minute, and you’re already doing your thing?” Callie said, exasperated.
“You haven’t been here for thirteen years,” the older woman said. “So you’ll stay quiet and let your momma do her thing, child.”
“It’s all right, Momma.” Penny threw a glance over her shoulder.
The older womanhmmph-ed and walked over to Raleigh. She was even shorter than Callie, thanks to her slightly hunched bearing; but her hands were strong and warm as she gripped his, and for a split second, he felt something electric-like when they touched.
“Hoo, boy.” The woman drew her hands away, and put one on his chest, above his heart, instead. “You’ve got a big old problem, don’t you?”
“You know?” Raleigh said.
“Momma’s a psychic,” Penny explained. “She can read people, tell their energies and … other things.”
