Forecast (12 page)

Drew devoured everything he could get his hands on.

Cosmopolitan
urged him to, ‘Come Out Of The Broom Closet,’ like Rowie.

Marie Claire
assured him that, ‘This Is One Shakespeare You’ll Understand.’

InStyle
encouraged him to ‘Express Your Inner Psychic,’ using this season’s accessories.

She was everywhere, yet he still didn’t know much about her. She was strangely reticent in interviews. She didn’t appear to court the publicity she generated, and never gave away a great deal of personal information.

But one look in those emerald eyes and Drew felt he knew every inch of her soul.

She was obviously a witch.

Ingrid also teased him about Rowie. “Whenever she’s on TV, your temperature rises,” she said as she removed a thermometer from under his tongue.

“That’s your presence, Ingrid, not hers.”

Ingrid gave him a friendly slap and they both laughed. Out of self-preservation, Drew had stopped seriously flirting with her. It was hard to be charming while someone slipped a bedpan under your ass and checked your back for bedsores.

Instead, he’d taken on the role of caring big brother. Ingrid trusted him and told him everything about her chaotic love life. The more she divulged about the men she dated, the more relieved Drew was that he hadn’t become one of them.

“Hey, when you go back to New York, do you think you can get her autograph for me?” asked Ingrid.

“I probably won’t run into her.” Drew watched Rowie flit across the screen. “I’m sure by then her spaceship will have arrived to take her home.”

“You could ask her out.” Ingrid felt it was her mission to help heal his lonely heart as well as his broken leg. “I bet you’d get on really well.”

“Doubt it. We’re completely different.”

“You know what they say, opposites attract.”

“Yes, but they should never date.”

Ingrid smiled, knowingly. “I just have this gut feeling that you’d like her.”

“A gut feeling?” Drew groaned. “Excellent. If I ever break another leg I’ll call you to fill in at work for me.”

Rowie stuck her head into Mac’s office. “You wanted to see me?”

Mac smiled and waved her in. “Take a seat. I just wanted to see how you’re doing?”

“Good … great. I can’t believe I’ve been here for over a month already.”

Mac studied Rowie. “Any plans for afterwards? Any offers?”

“No. But I’m open to them. How about a psychic network infomercial?” Rowie teased.

Mac went red, but laughed. “I was wrong that first day.”

“It’s okay.”

“You’ve changed my mind about a few things, Rowie,” Mac admitted. “You’ve made a believer out of me.”

Rowie nodded. “Good. Then you’ll believe me when I tell you that those tests will come back fine.”

Mac’s mouth dropped open, but remained speechless. He hadn’t told a soul.

“Sorry,” said Rowie. “That just popped out.”

Mac regained his composure. “That’s … excellent. A huge relief. Thank you.”

Rowie stood to leave. “And thank you, Mac. You’re a great boss.”

Mac walked Rowie to the door, paused for a moment, and then gave her a wink. “Loved the articles. Especially the piece in SheStyle. You make for a riveting read, Miss Shakespeare.”

Rowie headed down the corridor with a grin from ear to ear. It was a great piece. Rowie had picked up a copy on the way to work, and then disappeared into her dressing room to read it. She traced her finger over the promises it made on the cover.

‘Twenty ways to lose ten kilos!’

‘Do dermatologists use Botox on themselves?’

‘Fake tans for a real summer.’

And then this: ‘An unpredictable friendship: one writer’s real-life friendship with the Psychic Weatherwoman.’

Hopefully Angel hadn’t made her sound too weird. It was a big call.

Rowie spread the article out in front of her. She smiled when she saw a series of photos of the two of them, taken in a photo booth at Coney Island. She started reading, confused, and then overwhelmed. She’d expected a more journalistic piece, but instead Angel had written it from her own perspective. She described Rowie as sweet, loyal and funny. She wrote about how ‘normal’ Rowie was, despite her unusual gift. It wasn’t an interview; Angel had written an ode to their friendship.

“The day we met was, in retrospect, the best day of my life. I finally found my twin. Despite the differences between us—and there are many spiritual, physical and even cultural ones—Rowie has led me down the joyous path of female friendship.

Even Gwendolyn and Lilia got a glowing mention.

“They may be eccentric,”
Angel wrote,
“but they are also two of the most moral women you’ll ever meet. The history of the Shakespeare clan is littered with tales of prejudice and persecution, yet these women are completely free of these qualities themselves. They welcome everyone into their shop, their homes, their lives, equally and with open arms. I have been blessed, truly blessed, to become a part of their extended family.”

And this:
“People ask what it’s like to be best friends with a psychic? I guess it comes in handy when there’s a ghost in the room who wants to talk to me (yes, this has happened). But Rowie doesn’t predict my future. I’m not even sure what she sees for me, as I’ve never asked. I guess if there was something she felt I needed to know then she’d tell me. Mostly we talk about life, love, guys, work, world events, men, love, sex, books, chocolate, movies … guys, guys, guys … normal things. Normal conversations for normal friends. I don’t concentrate on her psychic gifts. That would be like having a friend who was a dental nurse and asking her to check my teeth. A friend who was a gynecologist and asking her to … well, you get the drift. I’m not drawn to Rowie because she’s psychic—although that is an integral and wonderful part of her—but because there’s no one I’d rather spend time with. It’s this simple: my friend feeds my soul.”

Rowie wiped the tears from her eyes. She didn’t know how she’d ever thank Angel. She’d always felt pathetically grateful that someone as wonderful as Angel wanted to be her friend. The bullying Rowie suffered at school had left its mark, so it never occurred to her that their friendship was an equal source of joy for Angel. It was the greatest gift a friend had ever given her, and flowers just didn’t seem an appropriate response.

There was a knock on the door and Shin stuck his head into the room.

“Hey Rowie I was just wondering … Oh sweetheart, what’s up?”

Rowie blew her nose. “Nothing. Just reading this article that my friend wrote.”

“Oh yeah? Where?” Shin strode over to her and took the magazine from Rowie, and gazed at the photo of Angel. “She’s … wow, drop-dead gorgeous.”

Rowie stared at Shin in amazement. Why hadn’t she seen it before? How perfect! Angel would be thrilled.

And so much better than flowers.

“I feel like Nicholson in
The Shining,”
Drew said to Jack one Friday. He’d been strung up for five weeks, one day … and two hours. But who was counting?

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” Jack laughed. “It’s a personal mantra of mine.”

“Do you think I should get Doc Hinchey to take this cast off and do more X-rays? What if my leg has healed quicker than expected?”

“Unlikely.”

Drew paused for a moment. He felt like a fool … but … what the hell! “What about that healer you were talking about? Do you think he could fix my leg?”

Jack’s eyes lit up, but he kept his voice steady. “We could give it a shot.”

Drew tried to look nonchalant. “Yeah … whatever. If you want.”

Jack kept a straight face. “I’ll see what I can organize.”

The following Monday, Jack arrived with an entourage of New-Age healers in tow. He looked like the Pied Piper at Woodstock.

One-by-one he introduced them: Mel, a tall, bearded Reiki healer; Mitch, a short, stocky reflexologist; Dr. Chan, a qualified GP and acupuncturist; and Delphine, who specialized in chakra clearing, reconnective energy and smelt of ylang ylang.

Drew nodded politely as they explained their techniques, admitted that they all seemed very qualified, and then asked if he could have a moment alone to speak with Jack. The minute the others closed the door, Drew exploded.

“What the hell are you doing?” he bellowed. “You’ve just set the whole cast and crew of the Learning Annex on me!”

“You said you wanted to give alternative healing a shot,” Jack calmly reminded him.

“I okayed the healer. The one who was on Oprah?”

“They’ve all been on Oprah, Drew. Oh, apart from Delphine, but she’s been on Dr. Phil.”

“Get rid of them, Jack.”

“Relax, will you? They’re here. You might as well try them.” Jack bit his lip and tried not to laugh. “Unless you’ve got something better to do?”

Drew glared daggers at Jack. “Fine. But I refuse to chant or share stories about my childhood.”

“That’s ruining half the fun,” Jack teased. “Kidding! You take yourself way too seriously, my friend. You need to relax.”

“Yeah, you’d think a month strapped to this bed would’ve done the trick!”

Jack opened the door and called the others back in. The group started by forming a circle around Drew’s bed and sharing a few Oms. By the time they were relaxed and centered, Drew was ready to scream.

Everyone decided that four therapies in quick succession would be too much for someone as blocked as Drew, so they split into pairs. Mitch and Dr. Chan would join forces and work on Drew first. Mel and Delphine agreed to go for a walk and return in an hour.

Jack patted Drew’s shoulder. “I’ll get out of their way.”

“Don’t leave me alone.”

“I won’t, you big baby. I’m just going to sit over there,” Jack assured him. “You’ll be fine.”

Drew looked at Jack in amazement. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Jack grinned. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages.”

Jack settled into a chair in the corner. Dr. Chan and Mitch began to work. Dr. Chan opened a case filled with acupuncture needles and other tools of torture. Mitch walked to the end of the bed and took Drew’s ‘good’ foot. He traced a finger across the soul.

“Oh, he he, that tickles,” giggled Drew, horrifying himself and amusing everyone else.

Suddenly Mitch pressed his thumb hard into the center of Drew’s foot. A jolt of pain shot down Drew’s arm and seemed to zap out his fingers.

“What the hell was that?” he yelped.

“Blocked energy.”

Mitch turned to Dr. Chan and started discussing meridian lines, blockages and various organs. It all sounded extremely scientific, and strangely comforting to a pragmatist like Drew. It was mumbo-jumbo … but
scientific
mumbo-jumbo. It couldn’t be too weird. It had been practiced in China for a thousand years, so surely they’d perfected it by now. And the Chinese were no dummies; they’d invented everything from gunpowder to the printing machine.

Mitch and Dr. Chan consulted each other every step of the way. Every pressure point on Drew’s foot complemented a spot where a needle was placed. Before long, Drew resembled a pincushion, and the sour look on his face had disappeared.

He wasn’t completely ready to admit he was wrong, but some subtle changes
were
taking place. Firstly, his leg had stopped itching. For the past three or four days, the skin under the plaster had itched continuously. It was driving him crazy. The doctor said there wasn’t anything she could do about it until the plaster was removed. Doc Hinchey had obviously never heard of acupuncturology—as Drew decided to call it.

Also, instead of feeling more annoyed as the treatment progressed, Drew felt more relaxed. Really relaxed. He hadn’t felt this good since that first shot of morphine.

Mitch and Dr. Chan finished and disappeared just as Mel and Delphine returned. They’d discussed their plan of attack over coffee, so got straight into it. For the next hour Mel placed his hands in various positions on Drew’s body. There were no weird dances. No Hare Krishna chants. It was all rather … normal. Drew was quite disappointed.

“I’m channeling the Reiki energy,” Mel explained.

“Yes … okay then,” mumbled Drew, feeling slightly apprehensive. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Perhaps a visit from a choir of Angels, or maybe he’d remember life as a serf in Tsarist Russia. Instead, he felt calm. A gentle, warm glow seemed to emanate from Mel’s hands and permeate through Drew’s body, deep into his soul. There was nothing life altering about the sensation, but it was impossible to dismiss. Mel finally moved onto Drew’s damaged leg. He placed his hands on the plaster.

“Unfortunately you can’t get to that leg,” said Drew.

“Don’t worry. The Reiki goes through plaster,” Mel assured.

“Really? That’s clever,” said Drew, unsure what else to say.

Suddenly an intense heat began pulsating through the plaster. It wasn’t painful, but it was obvious.

“It’s healing the break,” said Mel.

While Mel worked on Drew’s leg, Delphine began her treatment. She moved around Drew’s body, waving her hands in strange shapes and symbols. Finally, a weirdo, thought Drew. He was pleased at least one of them was living up to his expectations, and was on the verge of giving Jack a smug look, when Delphine started saying the most unnerving things.

“Your throat chakra, your point of communication, is blocked. You never really told those two how much they hurt you.”

Drew noticed Jack grinning at him from the corner.

“Oh dear,” Delphine continued. “Your heart chakra is a mess. They really did a hatchet job on you. I’m going to work on it a bit and open it up. That way you’ll allow love back into your life.”

“I’m too busy for love,” Drew joked. “Just leave it closed.”

She ignored him and started tracing hieroglyphics into his chest. Drew amused himself by counting the cracks in the ceiling. He noticed his chest felt tingly. He was a bit uncomfortable actually. He turned his head and pretended to read some of his get-well cards on his side table, but they made him emotional.