Memories of a Life That Never Happened

Chapter 28 - The Mother-of-saint

"5...4...3...2...1... happy 1998!"

The screams of joy exploded throughout the room along with confetti and serpentine. The air filled with sounds of drums, trumpets and saxophones. For the most part, people were toasting, glasses in their hands, bathing the floor with expensive champagne. Many were embracing and kissing each other, some were jumping up and down, and almost everybody was smiling. Except for Abel.

Mica stood up and faced her friend. The look he gave her was strangely serious.

"Happy 98, Abel!" Mica spread her arms moved closer to hug him.

As she threw her arms around his neck, Abel wrapped her in a long, tight hug. Without letting her go, he eased back just enough so that their eyes could meet. Her hands slid down to his chest and Mica felt Abel's warmth through his shirt. His heart was pounding fast under her palms.

Then, Abel started leaning toward her. Every inch he conquered made her eyes grow wider. Mica realized that scene from years ago was about to replay itself, this time in public. He would have done it-Mica knew it-if Nicholas had not stopped him.

"Would you mind me stealing her for a minute?" he asked gripping Abel's right shoulder.

Abel shot a half-irritated look over his shoulder.

"Of course," he said, but held on to Mica. Her hands started pushing his chest gently. "Not. Of course not," Abel added as he let her go.

The moment when Nicholas touched Mica, flashes erupted from everywhere. He pulled her into a hug almost inappropriately tight.

"I wish this to be the greatest year of your life and tonight, a glimpse of what's to come." Nicholas winked.

Mica could barely hear him through the commotion of greetings and snapshots. Nicholas was staring at her now, waiting for her response. Some kind of pleasantry, she supposed.

"Thank you!" Mica exclaimed, assuming it was a polite, normal reply.

To prolong the moment and get more photos, he clung to her, tilted his face to the cameras. It was a clumsy moment, this that would put her picture in the papers.

Both Nicholas and Mica moved on to greet the others at the table. Since Theo yearned for some alone time with Mica, he stepped aside patiently until Mica had greeted everyone else. When his turn finally arrived, she brushed a light kiss on his cheek. And there it was again. A pull in the gut. That rush under his skin.

"I was wondering-," Theo started but someone bumped into him and jerked him back.

"Sorry!" a man with hooded eyes and sweaty face slurred the word as he stumbled away.

Theo scratched his head, pointed to his assailant with his thumb.

"That one's not going far tonight."

Before he could continue, a throng started pushing its way through. Everyone herded toward the third and last dome. They had no option but to go along with the crowd.

As Mica entered the room, the first thing she noticed was that it was much dimmer than the last. At the heart of the stage, surrounded by the tall, dark stands, fifty small tables laid in a circle. White tablecloths spread over their round tops, down to the squashy cork-shavings floor. Each table had a set of three wooden chairs-two of which were already taken. Candle jars casted flickering shadows on the figures that sat in silence, facing the mass.

"Ladies and gentleman," Nicholas' voice boomed from the speakers. "These ladies are here to offer you a glimpse of the future."

Mica noticed that at each table, one woman was always clad as a milky dove, their faces white with pancake. The others were all black and wore long, rounded white gowns, which were similar but not identical. Atop their heads, they had turbans draped in sugary lace.