Chapter 1

The Fortune-Teller

October 1980

Edith Foster was the poster child for hippie living. Her golden-brown eyes held a glassy appearance most of the time, but she was never high on anything other than life. Free-spirited, she didn’t care that a new decade had arrived that was adamant about more being more. Bigger, brighter everything. Not Mama. Nope. She continued parting her long blonde hair down the middle, forgoing the thickly applied makeup and big bangs that were trending. She always tuned the radio to the easy listening songs from the sixties and seventies instead of the hip-hop and new wave sounds taking over the airways.

She and Pa said I was the spitting image of her, minus that dreamy expression and contented smile. On the cusp of teenage-hood, my only expressive setting seemed to be stuck on a guarded pout. I was full-on pouting at the moment as she spoke in that delicate voice laced with whimsy. She was propped up in her and Pa’s bed, looking like a flower-child queen as she adjusted the daisy behind her ear that Charlotte had given her earlier.

“Austin, it’s a beautiful rite of passage as a woman.” Mama wrapped her hand around my wrist, trying to pull me into a conversation I wanted no part of. My gaze dropped to the mood ring on her index finger and I saw that the stone was blue. It was always blue. I recalled teasing her once that the thing was a joke and held no other color besides blue, so she insisted I put it on. I did and the color instantly turned as black as coal.

“Mama—”

“It’s your body’s natural process of preparing to—”

“Mama!” I tried pulling away from her, but there was no give to getting away from my spot on the edge of her bed.

“I’m serious. Any day now your flower—”

“Why do we gotta talk about something that ain’t even happened yet?”

“To be prepared.” She finally let go and resettled on the bed, nestling in a pile of fluffy blankets and pillows. It looked like the bed was swallowing her up, except for the giant ball that was her belly.

“Please, Mama. I’m so grossed out right now.” My shoulders shuddered.

She giggled, finding way too much amusement in my discomfort. “I can’t wait to see you with your own young’uns. You know that saying about your children being ten times worse than you were as a child.”

An obnoxious snort slipped out as I scanned the dresser top. It held enough picture frames to cause an avalanche if someone stomped by it hard enough. “Well, I ain’t having no young’uns, so there’s nothing to worry about.” I glanced at her just in time to see the smile slip slightly from her face.

“Why not?”

I waved toward the pictures, evidence for my conviction. “You done had enough for the both of us.” I aimed a finger at her ginormous belly that held babies six and seven. “And you keep spittin’ them out every time I turn around. Seriously, you and Pa need to apply that part about controlling your urges that you shared with me in the birds and bees talk. Time to slow down on some things, missy.”

Her smile returned as she set into having one of her laughing spells. Holding her belly with both hands, she managed to say, “You keep getting me tickled like this and these two will be arriving early.”

“Only two more weeks. They got to be about ready anyway.”

“I’m ready to be out of this bed.” She readjusted, lying more on her side, but the grimace that flashed on her face gave away the fact that she was miserable.

When the doctor had diagnosed Mama with preeclampsia—a word I’d never heard before—I’d ridden my bike into town and had Miss Jones at the library help me find a book about it. I ended up with a book about pregnancy that covered conception to birth to complications. Reading it from cover to cover, I learned things I wished I could unlearn. I also knew that calling that entire natural process beautiful was a crock of bull. Nothing floral about it. Mama could shine that mess up, sprinkling flowers and pretty words on it all day long, but I wasn’t falling for it.

“You’ll change your mind.” She pulled her waist-length hair, the color of sand and sunshine, over her shoulder and began braiding it. The only times I’d ever seen her wearing it in any style other than down and free was when she was sewing tobacco or cooking. Seemed the last stages of pregnancy was the other exception. “I predict you’ll have at least three children of your own one day.”

“What? You a fortune-teller or something?” I rolled my eyes.

“No, sassy-pants. But I heard there’s one at the fair. Perhaps you should pay her a visit. See what she says.” Mama giggled, the real sassy-pants in the room.

I stood, sending out a creak from the brass bedframe, and pulled the piece of mail from my back pocket. “This came today.”

Mama took it and opened what I already knew to be a map and began unfolding it. “It’s Tennessee!”

I peeped over the edge of the giant rectangle she held with both arms spread wide. “Have you thought about backup names just in case you’re wrong like last time?”

Mama had been sure the last set of twins would both be girls, so the towns of Charlotte and Elizabeth had been circled on the North Carolina map. Well, “Elizabeth” came out three minutes after Charlotte and had everyone gasping when it was quite obvious she was really a he. Poor baby boy went a week nameless until Mama decided on Raleigh. It’s kinda funny, but we’re forbidden to tease him about it. Mama said it could cause him identity issues if we did. He had big ears, and she didn’t forbid that topic, so there’s that.

Grunting, Mama reached to the side table and plucked a pen from its tiny front drawer. “These two are boys. I think they’ll even turn out to be identical. There won’t be any surprises with Nashville and Knoxville.” I wasn’t so sure. After all we got a mixed set last time when she predicted two girls.

She bit her lip while drawing careful circles around the city names, and I bit my tongue to keep from spewing a protest on those awful name choices.

Edith Foster was not only a hippie but also a homebody with a weird wanderlust that took her no farther than the library. She had a vast collection of maps and National Geographic magazines but had never stepped foot out of the state of South Carolina. And for some other weird notion, she decided to name each one of us after a city she took interest in.

Ruckus from downstairs echoed through the floorboards, reminding me I had other things to do besides chatting with Mama. But our one-on-one time was all but nonexistent and I was selfish, craving every second I could have her to myself.

Carrying twins back-to-back seemed to have taken a toll on her, but by golly, the woman loved being a mother. She adored us and was a natural at sensing what we needed. Boston needed frequent hugs and a listening ear. Phoenix needed a more stern approach, and she was quick not to baby him over his handicap nor would she let him by with his mouthy ways. I suppose she joked and teased with me more often than not, knowing I was too serious and needed loosening up. Charlotte and Raleigh were the soon-to-be-dethroned babies, a coveted place they’d had all to themselves for the past seven years, so they were spoiled rotten. I wondered how she planned on changing that, but I knew she’d figure it out. Shoot, she even babied Pa and he was a grown man.

I definitely did not inherit my mother’s mothering instincts. That whole idea interested me about as much as getting a tooth pulled or talking about my period—both of which made me nauseous. I’d much rather be out plowing a field or sitting at the dining table with Pa, studying the Farmers’ Almanac.

“I wish you were going with us,” I mumbled, hearing heavy footsteps landing on the stairs.

Mama grinned over the edge of the map. “Me too. I bet those fair workers are from all over the country, if not the world.” Her eyes went dreamy again. “Be sure to ask some of them where they are from.” That was another one of her little quirks. At a chance encounter with someone new, her first question was always wanting to know where the person was from.

“Okay . . .” I brushed my hair out of my face and sighed. “You sure I need to tend to the twins tonight?”

“Yes. Your daddy needs some Boston time. That always cheers him up. Will you please do it for me?”

I wanted to ask what in the world did Pa have to be down about. It was Mama who deserved some fun time. But I kept that to myself, just like the weird name choices, and mumbled, “Yes, ma’am.” The heavy steps turned into a fast-paced bumping sound, sending whoever was on the stairs bouncing down on his backside. “Ugh. I better go help Pa.” Before I made a step away, Mama gathered my hand in hers.

“Sweetie, I know you don’t like talking about certain things, but you still need to be prepared. I’ve stocked up on supplies. They’re in the top of the linen closet.”

I knew she was just looking out for me, so I chose to forgo my grumbling and be agreeable for a change. “Thank you.” I kissed her cheek and made my way to the door, pausing there for a moment to give her one last tease. “You need to promise that these two babies are the last two!”

She rubbed her belly and giggled. “I’m making no such promise.” She stuck her tongue out.

I stuck mine out too before dashing down the stairs to help herd the wild animals. Ages ranged from fourteen to seven. With one mentally challenged and another physically challenged, I had my hands full. Phoenix sat in the front of the truck with Pa and the twins, while Boss and I climbed in the back. It was a warm fall night and even though Boss liked to babble about nonsense, it was much more peaceful than sitting in the cab.

As Pa pulled into the fairgrounds, melodious music from the carousel filled the air as thickly sweet as the aroma of cotton candy and caramel apples. The wind carried over to us, along with squeals of delight from the roller coaster. Each plunge could be distinguished by the roar from the riders, wave after wave confirming that thing had one too many dips for my likings.

For all my grumbling with Mama earlier, I was excited to do something out of the routine of everyday farm life, which consisted of feeding the small flock of chickens and other critters before catching the school bus, a mundane school day, after-school chores, making sure the others did their homework and their own chores, helping with supper and then bath-time routines. With Mama on bed rest, I felt more like a warden than a preteen girl.

At the ticket booth, Pa divvied out tokens for rides and games along with three dollars apiece. “That should get ya a soda and at least two snacks. I’m gonna ride some rides with Boss, so if you run out of money, come find me or Ox. If you act like you got good sense, then I’ll let you pick out a souvenir before we leave.” He handed me another bundle of dollars. “Your ma said you wanted to take the twins on rides?”

Wanted was a strong word, but I nodded anyway. “Yes, sir.” Even though fourteen-year-old Boston had the mind of probably a four-year-old, he was tall enough and adventurous enough to ride anything. I sure wished he was my fair companion for the evening.

“Peg, you good to go? You’re welcome to hang out with us two.” Pa hitched a thumb toward Boston.

“I’m good. I want to see about winning me a goldfish. It’ll take concentration and y’all just be distracting.” Phoenix turned and limped off toward the game section, the thick crowd immediately sweeping him away.

“Meet us right back here in two hours,” Pa called, his deep voice skipping over the heads of people to reach a determined boy on a goldfish mission.

“Yes, sir!” Phoenix’s voice somehow made its way to us even though he was out of sight.

Phoenix had more spirit and vinegar than anyone I’d ever met. He should have been born a redhead, but he was just as dark-headed as the rest of my siblings. They all favored Pa, with varying shades of brown hair and blue eyes. An unfortunate accident at age three when he’d tripped while chasing after the tractor left Phoenix minus a leg. His right leg had gotten caught in the discs before Pa realized he’d fallen. After months and months of surgeries and rehab, Phoenix returned with his leg gone from the knee down but having gained a cynical disposition even at such a young age. Now at age eleven, he mostly kept his smile to himself and was growing more and more argumentative about every little thing.

Boston was quick to let Phoenix know he looked like a pirate and renamed him Peg. No one, not even our newly ornery brother, ever disagreed with the Boss, as Pa had nicknamed him, after Boston’s favorite singer, Bruce Springsteen. So the name Peg stuck better than the first prosthetics he had to wear. Thankfully, the doctors finally got that right with the help of the Shriners.

“We want to ride the carousel,” Charlotte spoke up for both her and Raleigh as she always did.

I looked over at my little brother. He was nodding his head in agreement. “The carousel it is.” Holding their hands, I moved through the crowd and started my night at the fair with most of the other tiny tots and mamas.

After riding the carousel twice, we took a moment to watch the bumper cars. Each time a car crashed into another, the impact sent the twins into a tizzy of gasps and giggles. Right in the middle of the action was the mayor’s son, Vance Cumberland, steering his car into others as Malorie Fitzgerald sat beside him, clinging to his arm. Her father owned one of the only two law firms in Magnolia and was also kin to the Duke’s Mayonnaise makers, so of course the town had Vance and Malorie betrothed before they could crawl. I didn’t get it. A political family joining forces with a condiment empire? No. How about Duke’s Mayo and the Merita bread folks? Add a tomato farmer in the mix. Now that would be a union made in heaven.

Even though Vance was a grade ahead of me, I knew more about him than any boy in my own grade, and it was Malorie’s fault. She and I were in the same grade. With our last names beginning with the same letter, we were destined to always have lockers beside each other. Well, doomed was more like it, because I’d already had my fill of all things Vance Cumberland. It was Vance this and Vance that.

Vance just completed his Eagle Scout.

Vance was the best first baseman this county has ever seen.

Vance did volunteer work at the Y.

Vance, Vance, Vance . . . Yuck, yuck, yuck . . .

Malorie squealed and playfully popped Vance in the arm when he rammed two other cars head-on. I rolled my eyes and began leading the twins away from the perfect couple’s obnoxiousness and toward the snack vendors.

Time passed quickly with me helping the twins on and off all the kiddie rides, buying more sweets and then popcorn to tamp down the sugar. We shared a grape slushy while I stealthily watched my classmates run around in freedom from one wild ride to the next. The ring-toss game became the highlight of my night, using the rest of our money to ring three of those crazy-tall soda bottles with the curvy necks.

By the end of the two hours, the twins were tired and whiny, my back hurt from lugging three oddly shaped soda bottles around, and Phoenix was missing. When he didn’t turn up at the ticket booth as instructed, Pa led us on a hunt that took us to all of Phoenix’s favorite places. When those were a bust, we followed Pa around to the edge of the fairgrounds, where the haunted house, the mirror maze, and other oddities were set up. It was darker in that area too, except for one attraction.

A sparkly purple tent strung with a million twinkling lights drew us to it like moths to a flame. Two flaps were rolled back to reveal a round table dressed in black velvet with a crystal ball perched in the center. The glow of it caught my eye first, but then I noticed the two people occupying the table. Plain ordinary Peg sat in a chair across from a dazzling fortune-teller.

“Look, Pa.” I pointed. “Peg’s at the fortune-teller’s tent.”

“That boy,” Pa muttered while leading the group over to the table where Peg seemed to be in deep conversation with the woman. “Peg, what in tarnation are you doing?” Pa tipped his head at the fortune-teller, who was draped in glittery robes and wearing a fantastic beaded head wrap I couldn’t wait to tell Mama about. “Sorry for any trouble my son has caused you, ma’am. How much do I owe you?” He began to pull out his wallet.

“A lot,” Peg spoke up. “I want Foxy to be my souvenir. I ain’t even gonna be mad no more ’bout not winnin’ a fish so long as I get to have her.”

All eyes turned to the stunning woman. Her dark face glowed from the twinkling lights and her iridescent makeup, but her expression remained neutral. The air shifted, taking the scent of popcorn and earth with it, revealing a heady spice that swirled around us. It was exotic and new compared to the plainness of country living we were familiar with, so I knew it was a part of this woman as much as the silk material wrapping her head.

Pa apologized to her again before giving Peg a stern look. “Son, a souvenir is like those bottles Ox has or a stuffed animal or something. Not a human. And it’s rude to even suggest that. You owe—” Pa read the sign leaning against the table—“Mrs. Deveraux an apology.”

The fortune-teller waved a hand dismissively. “Phoenix has been perfectly fine. And please call me Foxy.” Her voice was hypnotic with a different drawl than our Carolina twang. It was deep with a confident authority yet feminine enough to be alluring, and it made me wonder if it was part of her act. The twins seemed to be just as entranced as the rest of us and took several steps to get closer to her.

“Dave Foster.” Pa extended his hand and she shook it.

“You sure are a purty Black woman,” Boss commented, his grin spreading.

“Thank you, young man.” Foxy’s lips curled into a slight smile.

“Boss!” Pa nudged him on the shoulder. “Mrs. Foxy, he didn’t mean no harm by that. Land’s sake. You probably thinking I’m raising a bunch of heathens with no manners.”

“No, I think you’re raising truth speakers. I am Black. A woman. And my Jinx says I’m beautiful, too.” Foxy discreetly tucked a stack of cards inside a wooden box when Boston reached for them. She handed him a beaded necklace and he instantly forgot about the cards. The rest of us were given necklaces as well. “Phoenix was trying to talk me into coming home with him. Said his mother can’t even get out the bed and that Ox doesn’t cook as good.” There was a little bit of tease tingeing her tone, but her sparkling face remained neutral as her onyx eyes found me. She winked. “I told him I’m not a good cook either.”

I expected Pa to scold Phoenix, gather us up, and move on. Instead, he grabbed a chair and struck up a conversation with the fortune-teller. “My wife is due soon with twins. We run a farm and Edie works enough for two grown men, but she’s going to have her hands full with the babies. You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a change from this, would ya?” Pa gestured toward the tent.

“Change is a part of life. I’m always looking for it.” She tapped a long purple nail against her dark-red lips. “But my Jinx isn’t one for change.”

When Foxy shared with Pa that her husband worked the petting zoo and livestock exhibit, he left the young’uns with me and took off like a shot. I couldn’t understand what kind of wild hair came across him to suddenly be looking for farm help. He was known for wild hairs, though, and it wasn’t out of character for him to offer up the guesthouse out on the farm to folks.

Later, Pa returned with a frowning man. Average height but skinny as a rail, Jinx Deveraux was opposite of his flashy wife. He smoothed the thick mustache above his lips while Pa tried selling him on the idea of farm living.

“My granddaddy and my daddy done an’ worked for the man. I ain’t gonna let my queen live oppressed.” Jinx bent and placed a kiss on Foxy’s cheek, then went back to rejecting Pa’s offer of food and board in exchange for helping out at the farm.

“But this can’t have much freedom.” Pa spread his arms wide and we all took in the flashing lights and chaos of the fair. “Don’t ya wanna plant some roots with your queen? You’d even have your own house and a piece of land to do it with. Us meeting is a divine appointment, my friend. Don’t ya see that?”

They kept right on going round and round until the fair was shutting down for the night. After the Deverauxs agreed to think about it and Pa left them directions out to the farm, Pa bowed his head and prayed for God to lead Foxy and Jinx to us. When I lifted my eyes, I caught a glimpse of a smile tugging at Foxy’s lips. It looked like she was in agreement but she didn’t put any words to it. Only time would tell.

We began walking off, but I whirled around and asked, “Where are you from, Mrs. Foxy?”

“New Orleans,” Foxy answered, and I knew Mama was going to love that answer.

I waved, almost losing one of those darn bottles, and turned to catch up with my family. It was a little chilly on the ride home, but I was too hyped up for it to bother me. Life was so routine that something as ordinary as meeting someone new was extraordinary to not only me but the rest of the Foster clan. We were all chatty, Boss and I leaning through the open back glass of the truck to talk about it with the others, all the way to the farm.

As soon as Pa pulled up to the house, I cradled the awkward bottles to my chest and jogged straight up to tell Mama about Foxy and her rad costume. Each hurried step made the bottles clang together, ringing out a warning of my imminent arrival. I collected all the details to share with her, hoping not to forget anything. I knew how easy it was for a moment to get tangled up, some parts shifting while other parts faded like sneakers left in the sun too long, until a memory was only a muddled reflection of the truth.

I barreled through the door to share one memory only to collect another one I would spend years distorting, reshaping, and wanting to forget.