The Mist
Scotty walked to The Lift athletic club, humming through the darkness. His routine began at five a.m. with thirty minutes on the treadmill followed by upper body workouts. Every time he pulled down, pressed out, and pumped up, he counted to fifty-two and thought about the B-52 bombers he used to maintain overseas. He wished he could rewind to that point in time and make different decisions. It was a lifetime ago when he’d asked Celia to marry him, fresh out of high school and heading into the military.
When his workout was completed, he talked with his buddies, then went to the locker room to shower and dress. He pulled a white t-shirt over a thick gold chain he never removed from his neck and cinched denim Wranglers around his trim torso with a brown leather belt. He’d bought the chain on a cruise ship in ’88. The trip was the time of his life. He’d gone with Peavy Holmes who’d passed five years ago after a battle with Lou Gehrig’s disease. Celia hadn’t gone because she was afraid of sinking out on the ocean. He looked in the mirror and slicked back his white hair with a comb that he tucked into his back pocket.
At the exit, he stopped to put on the satin jacket he’d gotten in Vegas in ’82 while he was there with Lenny Cicero. The sheen was dulling around the elbows, and the elasticity of the cuffs had broken down, but the emblem spanning the back advertising the Golden Nugget was bold as ever. When he’d brought it home, Celia embroidered Super Scotty and a pair of rolling dice on the left chest. Every time he put it on, he thought about how it had outlasted his friend.
He stopped and hollered to his buddies.
“Okay, see you guys next time!”
On his way to the golden arches, he reached the highest point in Walnut Ridge where he could see hundreds of miles across greater Lexington to the bordering states of Indiana and Ohio. He surveyed the expanse of green thoroughbred estates distinguished by white split fences and dotting dark evergreen. He took the scenery in all at once, not understanding exactly what it was that made him stand in silence each time he passed there. This was the land of the great revival where evangelical churches grew out of rolling terrain like resilient southern wildflowers. For as far as he could see, hills and valleys undulated with the radiance of autumn treetops.
“I’m going to be eighty years old. Can you believe it?” He sent the question through the cloud-swept cobalt sky. His words wound ‘round the steeples that soared between the green canopies below. “Well, I can’t believe it.”
He breathed the cool air deeply, looked at his watch, and began walking again. He whistled as he shifted the weight of his duffle bag and recalled the mail he’d carried along this route in the ’70s, ’80s, and early ’90s. Keeping his broad shoulders back and his head held high, he scanned the neighborhood to see whose cars were gone for the day, who might wave and say hello. He used to know everything about the homeowners—their junk, their bills, their subscriptions concealed in brown paper—he’d sorted it, bound it, and strapped it together by street name. Mail volume had been at its height then; heavy catalogues, detergent and soap samples, and weekly coupon books sent to every household.
Scotty knew which homeowners were still around, holding on like him. As he walked the familiar path, he recalled those who were friendly and provided him with a bit of relief, a quick use of the bathroom or a shot of whiskey in winter. He’d made a routine of remembering the neighbors who’d passed since he and Celia built their home in ‘69. He whispered each of their names, floating their memory into the blue.
When the glow of the arches came into view, Scotty quickened his stride. Inside, he rushed to the corner booth where his car club friends were gathered and gave them his usual greeting. “Ha ha!”
“Hey hey,” they responded, slapping Scotty’s hands before he headed to the counter. The workers knew each of the men by name, knew their orders by heart. Scotty’s jumbo coffee and egg McMuffin sandwich and hashbrown combo was served to him with a smile. When he slid into the booth, he told them how happy he was that they were still around, still vertical like him. They raised their half-filled cups over the table and said cheers. He thought maybe he’d said that one too many times before, so he decided to liven up the mood.
“Have I got a story for you! You guys aren’t gonna believe this!” He laid his phone down in the middle of the table and pointed. “Now, before I show you this, let me tell you what happened when Celia and I went to the casino last week.”
“I gave her twenty dollars and then I gave myself twenty dollars because that’s our limit. Then, we walked around and walked around.” He moved two fingers back and forth on the table indicating walking. “We wanted to find slots we’ve never played before but—there weren’t any!” He paused to laugh at his joke. “So, Celia sat down, and she blew through her money right away.” He swatted at the air like he was batting a fly away. “She didn’t win nothin’!” He shook his head.
One of his friends rubbed his forehead with his palm. Another ran his fingers back and forth across his mouth then pressed them against his eyelids. Noticing this, he paused momentarily then spoke louder when he continued. “So! I’m playin’ my machine. It was called The Cherry Bowl and said ‘Life’s a Bowl of Cherries’ across the top of it. You’ll see in a minute.” Another friend checked his watch, causing Scotty to vaguely remember one of the guys at the athletic club doing the same thing when he told them the story. He continued, sharing every descriptive detail about his big win at the French Lick Casino. It was customary for him to bring his listeners into his moment, to feel the excitement that he felt.
“Watch what happens next!” He pointed at the screen. “You see that? The wow wheel is spinning! Look at where it lands!” The electronic wheel lit in brilliant colors and slowed until it landed on the highest winning possible: $1,000. He turned up the volume so they could hear the red siren on the top of the machine wail. “I seen that wheel slowin’ down and I just knew it was gonna stop at the top.” Scotty clapped his hands when he finished.
The guys slapped him on his shoulders and said, “Tremendous, Scotty!” “That was really super, Scotty!” One of them said, “I’m tellin’ ya, you’re sure one lucky fella. I wish your luck would rub off on me.” His adrenaline rose with their compliments.
“Ha ha! I don’t know how I got to be so lucky!” He felt he’d really drawn them in, made them wish they’d been there. “Now, your next coffee is on me today!” He got up and smacked five dollars on the table. “MY treat!” He checked his watch. 8:15. “Okay? See you guys next time.”
Pleased with having the means to be generous, he started toward home. His government pension was paying him more than he dreamed he’d be earning forty years ago. But lately, he’d been getting confused and sometimes imagined he was still working. When his mind would drift, he found himself wishing he had a magic wand to put the neighborhood back in place. The houses, the lawns, the people. Poof! Poof! Poof! Back to how it should be.
When he approached his own house—a modest ranch with a clean line of brown bricks running halfway across the front and neatly trimmed hedges racing below—he put his head down and adjusted his duffle bag. He didn’t need to look at his watch to know it was 8:30. Celia always had oatmeal with brown sugar and strawberries waiting for him. As they sat at the kitchen table, he shook his head.
“What’s new today?” Celia blended a dash of cinnamon into her oatmeal.
“Well, I’m glad you asked me that! I was just gonna tell you what’s new. Listen to this! That family five doors down, you know, the ones who painted Frank and Sally’s old house that ugly brown?” Scotty waved his arm across the table in the direction of the home. “Can you believe their garbage cans are still layin’ across their yard? I’ll bet they’re just gonna leave them there until next garbage day.” He ate for a bit then began wagging his spoon as he continued. “And the people next door to them, they haven’t mowed their lawn in weeks. Weeks!” He shook his head. “But listen to this! Now this really gets under my craw.” Scotty pounded a fist on the table making the silverware jump. “That yellow house in the middle of Mulberry Street, you know, the one that has all the terrible lawn ornaments? Those people have two dilapidated vehicles sittin’ in their driveway. They’re falling apart, leaking oil onto the concrete. It looks like a salvage yard!”
He scraped his bowl clean, clanking his spoon against the ceramic with each pass. In the nearly twenty-five years this routine had gone on, he’d never told Celia that he’d already eaten breakfast. She patiently listened, then told him to not get so worked up about everything. She reminded him that the owner of the yellow house had gone into assisted living and the family was struggling to keep the house up.
“You know the guys at the gym and coffee were delighted to hear my story about my big win last week.” He rapped his knuckles on the table and puckered his lips as he gave Celia a challenging stare.
“Scotty! Did you tell them that story again?”
“Hmm?” Scotty tilted his head like a mockingbird, his lips still puckered.
“You said you told them that story on Friday.”
“I. Did. Not.” He rapped his knuckles with each word.
“Yes. You did. You came home on Friday and told me about how much they loved the story about your big win.” He stared blankly and rubbed his chin. “Scotty, we went to the casino on Thursday afternoon and the next day you went to the gym and coffee and told your friends all about it. Now you’ve told them twice, haven’t you?”
He’d grown to hate Celia’s constant corrections. She completed his sentences, corrected him even before he spoke. At times, it seemed like she could read his mind, making his reaction to her both immediate and thoughtless.
“Ah!” Scotty swatted at the air. “I dunno and I don’t care. They loved it twice then! And it’s a great story anyway. Who cares if I like to tell it? It’s my story to tell.” He thought back to the guys’ reactions and said, “Hmmm.”
“Uh huh,” said Celia.
He gazed out the window into his garden. His mind turned, as it always did, toward the friends he’d lost and how they’d departed. The world had so many criminals and corrupt people in it. Why weren’t they the ones dying the worst kinds of death? The weights on the cuckoo clock he’d brought home from Germany dropped slowly as it ticked through the seconds. He slapped his palms on the table and stood just as miniature ladies popped out of little wooden doors and spun to the music of The Happy Wanderer. The cuckoo bird raced in and out, as Celia carried their dishes to the sink.
Scotty went out to survey his garden. Despite his meticulous tending, circles of unruly switch grass swayed between exotic red canna lilies. He’d planted the lilies to attract attention away from what lay beyond the Salvins’ backyard and the entire west end of Walnut Ridge. Highland Memorial Cemetery, home to nearly 300,000 souls, sprawled across fertile Crider soil. The interior roads wound ‘round headstones of fallen soldiers and monuments of the wealthy and famous for acres, a portion of which came close to Scotty and Celia’s fenced-in yard.
Inside, Celia took a call from their son Steven. He told her the details for Scotty’s surprise birthday party. To throw him off, they’d celebrate early. Tomorrow night at The Jockey Club worked out perfectly because Thursdays weren’t too busy and that was the first night Pemberton performed for the weekend. Steven and his wife, Dee Dawn, would pick them up at four and drive them to Newport for dinner and the show.
Newport, Kentucky was a mecca of entertainment, but it was an hour and half drive, so Scotty didn’t get there as much as he used to. He loved it for the historic casinos like The Jockey Club, that still had old-school gambling and shows, reasonably priced prime rib, and bartenders with a strong pour. Pemberton was a renowned magician, a Kentucky native, who’d gotten his start performing for children. In the 90s he became the illustrious illusionist, making the carpet clubs in Newport his retirement gig. Scotty had seen Pemberton perform at least 12 times over the years and was still baffled by his tricks.
Scotty habitually shook fertilizer on the flowers that he’d learned to garden by trial and error, watching how the perennials performed and responded. If they became unruly or invasive, he eradicated them and started over with something else. He closed the lid on the container and went into the garage to put it away. Then he popped the hood on his Monte Carlo SS. It was a souped up ’72, rare for that year. The original 270-horsepower 454 V-8 was still working like a champ. He ran his eyes over the block, the carburetor, the headers. He’d purchased it new on the lot, right after the salesman pointed out that his initials were in the car itself.
Scotty had Super Scotty painted in fine white script below the driver’s window and Sweet Cecelia below the passenger window. He only took it out on special occasions which kept the original blue metallic factory paint and chrome in tip-top shape. As the years went by, he’d been driving it less and less. He picked up a soft shammy and lightly rubbed the length of it as he whistled softly.
“Scotty!” The surprise of Celia’s voice made him jump.
“Jiminy Crickets, Celia! You want me to have a heart attack and die, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt your love affair, but don’t forget that we need to leave by 2:30 if you want to get to Lenny’s funeral early.”
“I know that Celia, I know that. You didn’t need to come out here and spy on me to tell me that.”
They were one of the first to arrive at Blessed Hope Baptist Church. Scotty directed Celia into a pew near the back and positioned himself at the end. The afternoon sun illuminated colorful stained-glass that stretched to the high ceiling. He examined their intricacy, averting his eyes from the length of red carpet leading to the silver casket that lay open at the altar.
He turned his attention toward his shoes and thought about when he’d last visited Lenny at the hospice facility. A chaplain had been sitting at his bedside when Scotty quietly entered the room and stood in the shadowed entryway. Lenny spoke in strained whispers. Most of what he’d said hadn’t made sense but then a question escaped Lenny with great force.
“Why is this happening to me?”
The chaplain spoke softly as he patted Lenny’s swollen red hand.
“The way in which we depart is one of life’s great mysteries. Perhaps the cure for desiring something different is a heart that acts in accordance with the love and law of God.” There was a long pause before he continued. “This new heart can only come from God.”
Scotty had left the room after that. He leaned down in the pew and flicked dried red soil from his leather loafers. New heart, my foot, he thought. Lenny’s heart had always been in the right place. But Lenny’s question haunted him, and he was hoping to find an answer that made sense.
The young pastor summarized Lenny’s accomplishments with a great zealousness. He spoke about the day Lenny’s life changed in a flash – that Saturday afternoon when he collapsed in his driveway after he’d mowed the lawn. But Scotty knew, no matter how at peace the pastor said Lenny was now, his long-term care had emotionally and financially exhausted the family. Scotty was studying the wood planks on the ceiling when the pastor’s words brought him back.
“Give up the illusion that you deserve a problem-free life. If part of you is still hungering for the resolution of all difficulties, it’s false hope.” He paused before continuing with both arms outstretched. “The Lord said, in this world you will have trouble. Look beyond problem solving. Look instead to the promise of an eternity of problem-free life in heaven.”
The pastor was pacing too much and pausing too long, particularly when he boomed, “Do not be fooled by appearances. Things that are visible are brief and fleeting, while things that are invisible are everlasting.”
“I’m no fool!” Scotty shouted on their drive home. “Did you get the feeling he was looking at me when he said that?”
“Who did he call a fool?” Celia asked.
“You know, that don’t be fooled by appearances line? Nah!” He swiped his hand at the windshield. “What kind of hooey is that? Can you make anything out of that?” Scotty addressed her while he paid attention to the traffic.
“You know, not everything is about you all the time, Scotty. I don’t know why you let yourself get so worked up about this kind of stuff.” Celia looked out the passenger window, shaking her head. “You’re always sorting through ideas about things. If you exercised your mind as much as your body, maybe these things wouldn’t bother you so much.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Celia, but I know a zinger when I hear one.”
“Maybe if you went to church more often than funeral attendance, you’d be able to make sense of what you hear.” She paused and closed her eyes. “We used to go every Sunday. Remember when we used to take the SS to St. John’s when Steven was little?” She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed her eyes.
“That was a long time ago, Celia.” Scotty didn’t want to get trapped in one of her conversations about God and religion. It was just another way for her to find fault. Even in those days Celia was referring to, nothing provided the proof that he was searching for. His mind wandered to his SS. He kept it looking as good as the day he drove it off the lot. If he took it joy riding as much as Celia wanted, well, he didn’t even want to think about what could happen to it.
When Steven and Dee Dawn arrived the next afternoon, Scotty sensed something special ahead.
“Hot diggity dog,” he’d said when they came into the kitchen. When they evaded his questions about where they were going, he gave a little hop and swinging fast pitch motion of his arm. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
As Steven drove past the outskirts of Walnut Ridge and made the final turn to enter the freeway on-ramp, Scotty looked out his backseat window at the Tanglewood. The doors to the old club had been shuttered long ago, but the façade hadn’t changed much since Scotty’s days at his old haunt. At the Tanglewood, he used to hide away with a woman he’d met in the apple aisle at the grocery store where he worked a parttime retirement job. Celia said she’d been on to him since the beginning, which really burned him up. She’d cajoled him into counseling after he’d confessed to the affair.
As if on cue, Steven began a game of trivia. He had a whole host of questions memorized that Scotty, Celia and Dee Dawn vied to answer first. “What year did gambling begin in Kentucky? How many magic shows have you been to in your lifetime? What’s the largest amount of money you’ve ever won on the slots? Name three of the biggest stars you saw perform.”
The more answers Scotty shouted, the more excited he became about the evening. The last question Steven asked was a leading one.
“What’s the last standing original casino in Newport?”
“The Jockey Club!” Scotty shouted, rolling down his window.
Steven pulled into the club’s valet parking and Scotty stepped out, slamming the car door behind him. He hopped, shuffled his feet, and lifted his arms in the air as his sang.
“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!” He raised both arms and pointed to the marquee above him. The headline PEMBERTON – LIVE ILLUSIONIST was illuminated on white with red neon lights pulsing around the sign’s perimeter.
Inside, he gave the doorman a high five and told him he’d heard Dean Martin croon there in the early ‘60s. They walked through the club room casino, Scotty ten steps ahead of Steven, who was trailed by Celia and Dee Dawn. Red carpet appeared to flow onto the walls patterned in red velvet paper. The place wasn’t as untamed as it used to be, but it was the one establishment that kept an environment evocative enough for Scotty’s senses. His heart quickened with anticipation. The Jockey Club had the most beautiful young women carrying drinks to patrons. This was Scotty’s kind of congregation.
He stopped dead at the craps tables, wondering if there was time to play a quick round. Steven hooked his arm through Scotty’s and led him through the rest of the club to the maître de station. Celia and Dee Dawn caught up, and they were escorted up a staircase and led to a table by a window overlooking the intersection of the Ohio and Licking Rivers. The spot gave them a spectacular view of a suspension bridge connecting Kentucky and Ohio. The port of Cincinnati was just across the water where white riverboats with red paddle wheels slowly cruised in and out.
Steven pulled out a chair and motioned for Scotty to sit in the best spot facing the stage. When their drinks arrived, Scotty reminisced about his visits to The Jockey Club through the years. After they’d ordered their meals, Steven held up his glass to Scotty.
“Happy birthday, Dad.”
When dinner arrived, Steven asked Scotty if he’d like to say a blessing. Not knowing quite what to say, he stood, holding his fork in his right hand and his steak knife in his left.
“You know I never thought I’d live this long,” he said, raising his fork. “I’ve been to five countries, traveled across the United States and seen lots of things, done lots of things.” He paused then thumped his chest with a forked fist. “I work out every day and eat right and I’m still tickin, healthy as a horse.”
“Oh boy.” Celia shook her head.
“I’d like to thank you for this celebration—”
“—Dad!” Steven had been trying to get Scotty’s attention by putting his hands in the time out position. “Where’s the blessing?” Scotty sat down at Steven’s exasperation.
“Oh! A blessing. That’s right, you want a blessing. Okay then!” He sat erect in his chair, lowered his forearms to the table, and quickly said, “Let this food to us be blessed. Amen.” He began carving his meat.
During dinner, Scotty talked about the times he’d seen Pemberton perform. One of the first tricks he remembered was when Pemberton had torn paper into pieces and placed them in the palm of Scotty’s hand. Pemberton tapped his closed fist with his magic wand and asked Scotty to open it slowly, one finger at a time. When Scotty flattened his hand, the pieces of paper were replaced with a $50 bill tightly folded into a square.
“I still don’t know how he did it.” Scotty leaned back and scratched his head.
“I don’t understand the difference between a magician and an illusionist,” Dee Dawn said.
Scotty shook his knife when he spoke. “Magic? Magic is simple. But an illusionist, ho-ho!” He adjusted the cloth napkin on his lap then leaned into the table and spoke slowly. “An illusionist performs tricks that deceive the eye.” Dee Dawn looked at Steven with a raised eyebrow.
“Pemberton is known for his hypnosis and mind reading,” Celia added. “He’s hypnotized Scotty twice before. Remember that, Scotty? You’re too embarrassed to tell anyone about that. He fell right asleep at the snap of Pemberton’s fingers and when he woke up, Pemberton had him clucking like a chicken. He was flapping his wings and everything.” Celia’s laugh was filled with such delight Steven and Dee Dawn joined in.
Two bus boys came and cleared the table. Behind them, their waitress carried a small chocolate cake with eight candles. The staff and surrounding guests joined in singing “Happy Birthday.” They’d just finished slicing and serving cake when the velvet stage curtains parted. Scotty hurried to finish eating.
The owner of The Jockey Club, a stout bald man in a black suit, walked onto the stage with a microphone and introduced Pemberton to a roaring applause.
“Yo, Pem-ber-ton!” Scotty hollered through cupped hands as Pemberton walked on stage.
Scotty noticed at once that Pemberton had aged considerably since he’d last seen him. His ebony hair had faded to ivory, like his own. He wore a royal blue tuxedo with braided bands of gold fastened across a white shirt, and a gold bow tie adorned his collar. His broad cheeks still held youthful dimples. He’d twisted his slim mustache into tight curls and a trim goatee was chiseled into a small triangle. As he greeted the audience, he removed his top hat and bowed deeply. Then, he walked to the edge of the stage, stopping directly before Scotty, and extended a hand toward him. Scotty’s heart quickened.
“I hear we have a birthday celebration tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, my friend Scotty here is 80 years young. Let’s give him a round of applause!” Scotty squeezed his eyes shut and smiled.
The opening act included a simple pine box the size of a small toolchest. It was brought onstage by a buxom brunette named Vondra who wore a child-sized leotard. All eyes were on her as Pemberton engaged the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this trick doesn’t require anything more than your faith in the unknown.” Vondra unlatched the box that was hinged such that the front dropped open so the audience could see inside. She ran her fingers across the black satin interior, then held it open as she walked across the stage for the audience to inspect it. She placed it on a cloth-covered table where Pemberton waited to securely close it. He spoke in a deep, foreboding tone.
“Inside the ‘Handbook for the Deceased’ there’s a quote; the living are like a mist, appearing for a time, then vanishing. I have this type of misty oddity trapped inside this solid wooden chest.” Pemberton tapped on the box with his magic wand and put his ear close to it, then said, “An apparition named Chantal who is longing to see you.” He looked across the audience before continuing at a rapid rate. “If I open the front you’ll see two items inside, a crystal glass that held Chantal’s medicine and her ivory hairbrush. Both items sat on a nightstand beside her bed. On this side, you’ll see there’s no trap doors and, on this side, no visible ways in. And yet, if I whisper my magic spell, I believe she’s ready to say hello.” Pemberton whispered inaudibly to the box, sending shivers up Scotty’s spine. With a swift tap of his wand, the door on the chest dropped open revealing the blue glow of a woman’s head between the hairbrush and glass. A veil shrouded her face, and she slowly turned and gazed around the room. Gasps and hushed exclamations erupted followed by applause. Pemberton took a bow.
“Continue to keep your focus on me,” he commanded. “I have the master’s hand and mind, and you don’t want to miss a thing.” He rubbed his hands together and looked down at the stage while Vondra rolled the table behind the curtain. “This next trick requires strength of mind and complete trust, and I’m going to ask someone very special to come up on stage with me. Scotty?” Scotty pointed at himself when he heard Pemberton say his name. “Yes, you Scotty. You’re turning 80. You’re not afraid, are you?”
Scotty watched Vondra walk toward him in her high heels and fishnet stockings. Celia rolled her eyes.
“We’re all gonna hear about this for the next year.” She tapped the table with her fingertips as Vondra led Scotty onstage.
“Scotty, you’re blushing,” Pemberton said. “I can read minds you know, and I’ll just keep what I’m reading right now between you and me.” The audience erupted in laughter. “Now I need you to concentrate, Scotty. Concentrate only on me.” Vondra stood behind Scotty.
“Well, Vondra is making it pretty hard for me to concentrate.” The audience roared.
“You know, Scotty, a man is just half a man without a woman.” The laughter slowly quieted as Pemberton continued. “Come now, Scotty. Imagine that I have reached into your mind and pulled out a thought.” He reached across Scotty’s forehead and grabbed something invisible with his fingers.
“There’s not much in there for him to grab!” Steven and Dee Dawn laughed at Celia’s joke.
“This could be any thought, Scotty, but as you look at it, you realize it’s your age. I toss it into the air,” Pemberton released the invisible thought with a flick of his fingers. “It drifts through the room, out the window, and into the darkness of night.”
“I sure hope it doesn’t land on anyone.” Celia laughed as Steven shushed her.
“You can no longer see your age, Scotty, and you don’t remember it. The harder you try, the more impossible it becomes. Now tell me, what’s your age?” Scotty stared blankly at Pemberton. “I’m 73, Scotty. How old are you?”
“I dunno,” Scotty said.
“You don’t know how old you are?”
“No,” Scotty stared.
“I sense that fear is inhibiting you, Scotty. This is a time in your life when you must learn to let go of inhibitions. When you let go of your inhibitions you are complete. Relationships are meant to be vibrant and challenging. When you cling to old ways and sameness, you resist new work within you. Embrace all that is changing in your life.”
Scotty felt the words wash over him. He became keenly aware of what he heard as the depth of his sight diminished. He knew he was no longer in control, but he trusted Pemberton, making it easy to succumb to him.
“Now when I count backward from five you are going to release your obstacle of fear, and as you do, your grasping mind will gradually open, releasing all that inhibits you.” Pemberton’s voice became deeper, and he spoke more rapidly. “Five, do not fear change; four, I am giving you new thoughts; three, you’ll allow old things to pass; two, you are becoming new; and one, you are wide awake and headed in the right direction.”
As Vondra helped Scotty exit the stage, everyone in the audience clapped except for Celia who had her chin cupped in her hand. “This ought to be interesting.”
After the show, Pemberton visited with the Salvins at their table. He laid a hand on Scotty’s shoulder.
“How do you feel, Scotty?”
“Oh boy, Pemberton! I feel fantastic! Fantastic! You gotta tell me, how did you do that trick with the head in the box? And what was it you said about a mist?”
“Ah, you know I can’t reveal my secrets, Scotty. But I can tell you this; everything is elusive when you’re looking for it in the future.”
Pemberton turned his attention to Celia.
“And you, my dear.” He stepped toward her and gently enfolded her hand in his. “Even when the stakes are high, Celia, you will never run out of resources.” Celia flushed at the attention and gentleness of his touch. When he drew his hands away, she felt something in her palm and opened it to find a silver dollar. Pemberton winked at her. Celia held up the coin to Scotty and giggled.
“I’ll tell ya who’s got the master’s mind, Pemberton. It’s this woman right here.” Scotty wagged his finger at her. “This woman knows it all.”
“The good ones do. And you’ve got a good one, Scotty.” He shook Scotty’s hand and with his left arm, pulled him close and whispered. “I’ve always found that surrendering to the master is the best way to go.” Then he released Scotty and said loudly, “Happy birthday, my friend. I hope to see both of you next year.” He waved as he walked away.
The lights of Newport were fading behind Steven’s rear window when he broke the silence. “That was quite a performance.”
“I thought it was really amazing,” Scotty said. “Who knows how much longer I’ll be able to do this kind of thing.” He looked out his window. “Newport isn’t the same anymore. The world is changing around us all the time.” He paused thoughtfully. “Everything looks different.”
“What do you remember from the hypnosis, dad?” Dee Dawn asked.
“You know, I don’t remember anything. Except Vondra. I remember Vondra, ho-ho!” He smiled at their groans. “The funny thing is.” He stopped talking and rubbed his eyes. “It’s like I’m seeing a mist.”
“Oh, like Chantal!” Celia chuckled. “Maybe Pemberton switched your personality with hers!” Scotty swatted as they laughed.
When Steven and Dee Dawn dropped Scotty and Celia off, it was well past their bedtime. Scotty buttoned up his pajama top and climbed into bed while Celia took her pills and brushed her hair.
“I’m glad to be home,” he said, pulling the covers over his chest.
“You are?”
“Come on, Celia.” Scotty patted the mattress. “Come to bed.”
“You mean you’re not going to fall asleep before I join you?” Celia slipped on her nightgown.
“I’m wide awake. And I’ll tell you what, Celia. The mist is gone. Just disappeared.” Scotty motioned with both hands as if he was parting a curtain while she lay next to him. “And here you are, right beside me.”
They stared silently at the shadows their bedside lamps cast on the ceiling.
“Well, I hope you like what you see, Scotty.”
He grabbed Celia’s hand and leaned over to kiss her.
“I’m a lucky man.” Scotty gave her hand a squeeze.
“That you are, Scotty.” She chuckled then gave his hand a double squeeze as she continued. “Just don’t forget who has the master’s mind.” Scotty laughed with her.
They turned out the lights and lay quietly for a while, until Scotty’s voice came out of the darkness.
“Let’s take the SS out this Sunday. Let’s go to church and wherever else you want to go after that. No destination. No timeline.”
