Page 3 of In Her Eyes

Lynn looks around for the next object. “Okay, find something. Get your spidey senses on.”

I look around the store and smile when my gaze lands on a small picture frame. The black-and-white photo is yellowed with age. It’s a wedding day picture. The woman is seated, gloved hands on her lap. She’s wearing an elaborate gown. Multiple skirts are layered over one another, and delicate lace covers the fabric on the bodice and high neck. Flowers are braided into her hair and a delicate veil is draped over one shoulder. The man is standing next to her in a dark suit and holding a hat in one hand. His other hand is on her shoulder. A flower in his lapel. They look happy. A love match, and not an arranged marriage. The cast-iron frame is gilded with gold. My hands tingle when I brush my fingertips against the top before I pick it up.

My eyes close, and my mind floods with images. My smile gets bigger.

An English countryside flutters before my closed eyelids. Purple-blue wildflowers spread amidst grass and rocks. A dirt road marred by the twin ruts of carriage wheels extending down the path. The giggle of children. A massive stone house with tall windows and heavy draperies. A wall of leather-bound books. A floral settee. The very same picture with someone writing something on the back. The picture frame sitting on a mahogany desk. The frame wrapped in newspapers and the pitch-black from inside of a trunk. A trip across the ocean. An old map of Virginia. A new home, whitewashed walls. Older kids now. The images move through my mind, one after the other, like the pages of a book being flipped until the last image dissolves with the words on a sign: Estate Sale.

I open my eyes, blink a few times, look around, and allow the present to settle into me. It takes a couple of seconds to get my bearings after the vision. The past never wants to let go. I take a deep breath and shed the wash of faint emotions that always linger with the images—the visions attached to the picture frame were happy and bittersweet. That’s not always the case, and I can’t tell what I’ll get until I touch something. The earlier pull I felt is dulled by the lingering effects of this vision. But it is still there, waiting for me.

Lynn bounces on her feet, all impatience and contained energy. “So? What did you see?”

“If someone could figure out how to harness all of your enthusiasm, I bet they could power a small country.”

“Ava!”

My smile grows large. I’m enjoying my little power trip and making her wait.

“Avalon Mitchell Bloom, if you don’t tell me right now, I swear—”

“Oh-oh, she’s using my full name. I’m in trouble now.”

Her hands fist a few inches from my face in a mock fight stance.

I put mine up in surrender. The sound of a throat clearing and a chair dragging on the wood floor grab our attention. The shop owner is none too impressed with our antics. He faces us, head tilted down to look over the glasses dangling halfway down his enormous nose. I turn my back to him and repress a laugh. “Shh, behave. We’re nearly thirty, not teenagers.”

She pushes her shoulders back. “No, we’re twenty-eight, and that’s not thirty. I know math because I’m a teacher.”

I grab the picture frame. “Let’s go. I’m buying this. It will look great with my other antique frames.”

Lynn follows me around the shelves as we put some distance between the man and us. I tell her everything I saw.

She sighs. “It’s so romantic. I’m so jealous. I wish I could do that.”

“It’s not romantic. It just is. Not all memories are happy ones.” I’ve had my share of unhappy impressions.

Lynn picks up a teacup and sets it back. “I know. But you have this gift, and it’s such an amazing thing.”

“So do you. You bring joy to kids every day, and they learn to read in the process. You’re creating smart little minds.”

“Fancy words, but at the end of the day, I’m just an elementary school teacher. I do love my first graders and my school. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

I hug the frame to my chest. “Of course, June, July, and August don’t hurt either.”

She nods. “Can’t complain about having summers off. If I had any other job, I wouldn’t be able to come with you on your impromptu summer vacation.”

“Let’s go.” I tilt my head toward the cash register at the back of the store. “Before that guy calls the cops on us.” That pull gets stronger again, but something in me is resistant to the idea of touching it, whatever it is.

I smile big at the man behind the counter and place the picture frame on top of the neat pile of butcher wrapping paper. He looks older than some of the pieces in the store.

That pull I felt when we first entered the store takes hold of me again and doesn’t let go. My knees nearly buckle. Lynn’s hands come to my back and steady me. I glance at the old man, but he’s distracted, wrapping the picture frame. I turn, orienting myself toward the call pulsing in my chest. To my right, in a glass case behind the counter, on a hook, hangs a necklace. Two large blue stones dangling from a long silver chain. The stones sway ever so slightly, as if they’re trying to get closer to me.

I point at the necklace. “May I see that, please?”

The man looks behind him and back at me. His eyes glint. I cannot hide the eagerness in my voice. He’s already calculating how much he can charge me. I try to tone down my interest. “It’s such a pretty blue.”

“Ah, yes, I got this a few days ago. Pretty, eh? I think the stones are lapis lazuli and turquoise.”

He grabs the necklace from its perch, and I want to swat his hands away. Keep him from disturbing the imprints that so strongly call to me.

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