C. Omololu - Intuition

“I . . . um . . .”

Drew discreetly wipes at the stain on his cheek, a lipstick stain most guys would kill to have. “How about I text you as soon as our plans are settled?”

“All right. But I’m going to leave them in your name anyway. At the Civic Center. About nine o’clock. I’ll be expecting you.”

“No promises,” Drew insists.

Portia grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze, and I swear I see her give me a little wink. “So nice to meet you, Cole. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing you around.”

After she leaves, I stare Drew down. “You’re friends with Portia Martin?”

He shrugs, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. “Sure. She’s just a person like everyone else.”

“Portia Martin is not like everyone else.”

“Hey, there’s a booth free over there,” Drew says as he hands me my wine. I slide in opposite him, and it doesn’t take long before we’re joined by two women and a man, all in their twenties, I guess.

From the introductions, I can’t tell what the women do, but baseball is mentioned a couple of times and I figure out that the guy must play for a major-league team. I file his name away, thinking that Griffon will probably know who he is, until I remember that I’m not going to be talking to Griffon anytime soon. It’s moments like these that are the most difficult—something comes up that I can’t wait to tell Griffon, and when I remember that I’ll probably never get to tell him, it hits me all over again.

I sip my wine and try to follow the conversations that are going on around me.

“She’s living in Georgia, can you believe it?” The dark-haired woman says with a thick southern accent. “The country, not the state.”

“Have you seen her?” Drew asks.

“No. She’s still physically a child and hasn’t had access to much technology up till now. She contacted me through the site, but it will probably be another five years before she can really join us. I’m so glad she did, though. I’ve been wondering what happened to her.” The woman looks at me. “Have you registered yet? It’s so important if you want to find people you’ve known in the past.”

“No.” I look to Drew for help.

“Cole is still regaining her memories,” he explains for me. “So I haven’t told her about the registry yet. Not much point if she doesn’t know much about her history.”

“Is the registry like a database of Akhet?” That must be what Janine and Sue were talking about that day.

“Exactly,” the red-haired woman says. She has a faint British accent. “It’s easy enough to find these days. You must be verified before you have complete access, and then you enter information about your past and your contact information in your present. You can find other Akhet you’ve known over the generations.”

“Like Match.com for us. So much easier than going all the way to Alexandria,” the man says with a smile. “That was such a hassle.”

The southern woman turns, and I see a diamond-encrusted ankh sparkling at her chest. She catches me looking and holds it up to the light. “Pretty, isn’t it? I was tired of the old one, so I had this made.” She nods to the pendant around my neck. “Yours looks like you’ve had it for a while.”

I can feel Drew’s eyes on me as I reach up to touch it. “It was just given back to me after a long time away.” I glance across the table. “Drew had it made for me. Centuries ago.”

The woman next to me puts one finger on the ruby in the center. “That seems fitting. The ankh isn’t just the symbol of eternal life; for us, it’s a promise that we’ll be together again in another lifetime.”

The word echoes through my mind as I run my fingers over the curve of the pendant. A promise I have no intention of keeping.

We’re in a cluster of people around the bar when Drew waves to someone across the room. “Excuse us, will you?” he says to the others as he pulls me away from the crowd. “The reason we came here tonight just walked through the door.”

“Who is it?” I ask, looking around.

“Right here,” Drew says, approaching a guy in his forties with tan skin and a little bit of gray at his temples. He extends his hand. “Mr. Ramirez?”

The man turns and examines Drew’s outstretched hand for a moment before taking it and breaking into a smile. “Drew? Please call me Frank.”

“Okay, Frank,” Drew says, looking relieved. “Thanks so much for agreeing to meet us here.”

Frank’s focus on Drew is intense, as if he’s blocking out everything else in the crowded room. “Not a problem,” he says. His speech is clear, but there is a formality to it that makes me wonder if English is his second language. Frank switches his gaze to me. “This must be the young lady you told me about.”

“I’m Cole,” I say, taking his hand. There are some Akhet vibrations between us, but I don’t sense any past connection.

He must feel the same thing, because he smiles broadly. “Nice to meet you. What did you say your name was?” His dark brown eyes are intent on my face.

“Cole,” I repeat, leaning in so he can hear me over the noise in the room.

Frank still looks confused as a slightly younger man joins us, placing a drink on the counter next to him. Frank’s gaze softens as he introduces us. “Ah! This is my husband, Robert.”

We exchange greetings and then Frank turns to Robert, his fingers fluttering through the air, and I suddenly understand. He’s using sign language—Robert must be deaf.

Robert leans toward me, and I’m startled by his clear speaking voice. “I’m sorry, what was your name?”

“Cole,” I repeat.

“Cole,” he says with a smile. “That’s nice.” He turns to Frank and makes some deliberate gestures, and suddenly Frank’s face breaks into a smile.

“Cole!” he says, turning toward me. “Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t get that at first.”

I look from Robert to Frank as they grin at each other. “I’m sorry,” Frank says to me. “I’m deaf. I thought you knew.”

“No, I didn’t.” I’m a little flustered and glance at Drew, who just shrugs like he didn’t know either. “It’s okay, though.” The minute I say it, I squeeze my eyes shut. What a stupid thing to say.

Frank nods with a smile. “It is. I contracted measles when I was a baby in this lifetime and have been profoundly deaf ever since. I’m usually good at reading lips.” He tilts his head at me. “But every now and then a beautiful name trips me up.”

Robert gestures to an open table and taps Frank on the elbow. “Shall we sit down?” he says, making sure Frank is watching him as he speaks.

“Let’s,” Frank says, grabbing his drink and leading us to the table. “I hear you’re quite an accomplished cellist,” he says to me as we sit down.

I look at Drew, wondering how much he said. “Was,” I correct. “I don’t play much anymore.”

“I don’t either,” Frank says. “Not this time.”

“This time?” I ask. “Were you a musician before?”

Frank looks at Drew, and I’m wondering if he’s waiting for a translation when Drew says, “I didn’t tell her.”

Robert laughs, and Frank just nods in acknowledgment. “I was,” he says, turning back to me. “My lifetimes have always revolved around music. Two times back, I focused on the cello too. You may have heard of me.” Frank pauses, and I can sense he’s teasing me. He poses with one arm extended and his chin up. “La Suggia?”

I gasp, picturing the elegant woman in the red dress whose portrait with the same pose has been hanging in my room for years. “Guilhermina Suggia? That was you?”

“It was,” Frank acknowledges, his dark eyes shining with the memory. “What a lifetime,” he sighs. “Casals and I were celebrated throughout Europe, playing for kings and queens. Salons in Paris, impromptu concerts in Prague.” He focuses back on me. “Now that was a life well lived.”

I can hardly believe it, although if I’ve learned anything over the past few months, it’s that anything is possible. How many people get to ask their long-dead idol questions? “What was it like?” I ask. “Being one of the first women to play?”

“Frightening,” he answers. “And exhilarating. Empowering.” The smile on his face shifts just a little. “And sometimes crushingly lonely.” Robert laces his arm through Frank’s and absently pats his hand. I remember that Suggia left Pablo Casals after decades together, their competitiveness often given as the reason for the split. She didn’t marry until she was in her forties and never had any kids. “I gave up a lot for my music,” Frank finally continues. “That kind of singular drive was right for that lifetime.” He glances fondly at Robert. “I’ve since learned to keep more of a balance.”

Drew leans forward, and Frank’s eyes shift to him. “Cole isn’t sure she wants to continue with music. She has an injury that’s made it hard to play recently.”

“If you’re meant to be a musician in this lifetime,” Frank tells me, “it will be impossible not to continue in some capacity. Your body and your spirit won’t let you quit.”

I think about the low-grade yearning I feel inside when I haven’t played for a while. About the feeling of peace that I only find with a bow in my hand. “So, what do you do now?” I ask. “Since you can’t play music this time?”

Robert looks at Frank with admiration and then answers for him. “He won’t tell you this, but Frank is one of the most respected composers in the entertainment industry.” He names several blockbuster movies with big, epic musical scores.

I see Frank watching Robert’s lips as he speaks. “I write a little music,” he says modestly.

“But . . . you can’t hear it?”

“Just because I can’t hear the notes doesn’t mean I don’t know what they sound like,” he says. “I write each part, hearing it in my mind and in my memories.” He sits back and sips his drink. “I do okay.”

“A bunch of gold statuettes in our bathroom says that you do more than okay,” Robert teases.

Frank looks a little embarrassed. He leans toward me. “You can’t let your circumstances dictate your life. Only you can decide. Success is twenty percent ability and eighty percent desire.” He smiles. “You can do anything you want. As long as you want it badly enough.”

“You look tired,” Drew says as we drive up the hill toward my neighborhood.