What Kind of Mother by Clay Chapman EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Clay Chapman
- Language: English
- Genre: Occult Horror
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
MISSING PERSON
Give me your hand.
Such a simple invitation. I’ve asked it many times of many people over
the last year. Folks tend to forget how intimate the act is, how vulnerable
you become when you surrender your palm to another. Especially to
someone like me. The tender flesh of your wrist, the meat of your palm, the
peninsulas of your fingers. Their secrets hidden from you but exposed to
me.
I’ll guide you there, but first you need to…
Give me your hand.
TWO
The Brandywine Farmers Market has been around since I was a little girl
leapfrogging over the headstones in the cemetery behind Shiloh Baptist
while my mother bought her greens. Even longer than that. Every Saturday
at nine on the nose, the church’s parking lot is overtaken by elderly
entrepreneurs ready to hock their homemade wares.
Each parking space hosts its own stall. Farmers pull in well before the
sun even thinks about rising, just so they can snag those hallowed spots up
front where the foot traffic flows freely. Truck beds become rusted
cornucopias of fresh tomatoes, sweet potatoes, ears of corn sheathed in
leathery green husks, cucumbers covered in a fine dust of dirt, broccoli,
zucchini, pumpkins, strawberries, and baskets of blueberries. Some even
offer jars of pickled okra and peach preserves.
The local fishermen bring their bounty from Chesapeake Bay: blueshells, oysters, herring, shrimp, mussels, clams, glass-eyed shad—all
packed on beds of ice that slowly melt into a briny broth as the hours slip
by and the humidity thickens.
Hand-painted signs line the highway for a mile out on either side of the
peninsula, luring in passersby with promises of local produce and seafood.
People who call Brandywine home still live off the land and water.
I live off your hands. The lines in your skin. The folds in your flesh. A
palm reading sets you back twenty bucks. There’s tarot, too. I provide a
full- or half-deck reading. Aura cleansings.
This is as close to a career as I’ve got. Long as I can recall, there’s
always been a palm reader at the farmers market. Used to be my gram.
She’d pull out the same tattered tarot deck and let you cut it anyway you
liked. I’m not entirely sure why she even did it—wasn’t like she was
actually psychic—other than it got her out of the house on the weekends. I
think she simply got a kick out of spinning yarns for a couple quarters,
getting the kids all giddy over their destiny—You’ll live a long, happy life,
hon…You’ll meet the fella of your dreams, darling…I spot good tidings
heading your way, sugar…
It was simple to pick up where she left off after she passed. Runs in our
family, I’ll tell any customer curious about my bona fides. I slip on the same
boho tie-back dress with batwing sleeves, armoring myself with enough
bracelets that my wrists jangle, ting-ting. My work attire, compliments of
our local Goodwill. Got to dress the part. I rarely wear makeup nowadays,
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