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The man is walking down the hall to Daddy's office. Oh-no, he looks mad. He can't lose his job now! He's opening the door, and Daddy's with a client. Surely Mr. Callon won't fire him now. I can't help feeling happy though.

"Brandon? We need to talk when you get the chance, but how would you like to be head counselor on the Pelxico case?" Callon said.

"What? Me? Sounds great, sir! I'll need to review the case more, but-"

"I'll get you everything you need when you talk to me. Soon, Brandon!"

My mind was sucked backwards to reality, and I finally caught my breath.

"Mary! I've been shouting at you! Why won't you ever listen to me?"

Cynthia was mad at me, of course. Her little blonde curls hung around her cute face, making her angry face look like a little doll's.

"Sorry," I mumbled. My family hated it when I zoned out like that. "I was daydreaming again. What did you want?"

"No you weren't! Mary, Momma's going to whip you if you don't stop that!"

"I can't help it! Grandma Alice told you the same thing."

"She lost her mind! Mary, I don't want to see you in a crazy house, all locked up and held down by ropes and all that. Uncle Ray keeps telling Daddy that the more you see, the more likely someone will notice. The cops will take you away! What if that happens during church?!"

She looked up and down and all around as if someone, or maybe God himself, heard her tell the worst possible sin. Come to think of it, that's how my family treated my visions- as a sin worst than murder.

"Well, I maybe I'm like Joan of Arc. Did you ever think that these visions-"

"Don't say that!"

"What if God is talking through me? Would you ever lock up a prophet?"

Cynthia looked down at kicked a pebble on the ground. Her face twisted in deep though, but I knew her better than that. Momma and Daddy told her my "sightings" were dangerous, and I must try to stop them at once. She wouldn't take my side as long as our parents were against them.

"I don't know, but stop it. If we don't hurry we'll be late for dinner."

She took my hand and tried to drag me down the road to our house. She was only thirteen, four years younger than me, but like most people, she was taller than me. A stranger would have thought that the older sister was taking the younger one home, but that wasn't so. Cynthia was always taking me home.

Well, you wouldn't want to go back home either when your mom, dad, sister, and always-near aunt and uncle avoided all eye and physical contact from you. I was mad, Mad Mary, Uncle Ray once called me. Everything about me was different than the typical 1915 Biloxi, Mississippi girl. I was fully grown but still a pathetic four foot nine, and I liked to have long, painted nails. They made me feel pretty and some boys in town looked at me like I was special-a good, look-at-that-pretty-girl special- when I was fancied up. I liked to wear my long, black hair up in a soft pony tail, and I wore bright red, blue, yellow, or green dresses. And I wore strappy heels.

Don't get me wrong. I loved my family. My father was a lawyer who worked extra hours so he could afford the best for his family- and special pills to control my visions. Like all the others we'd tried, they didn't work, but I didn't want to tell him. He'd just go out of his way to find another medicine I hadn't tried. He was so scared that I would end up like his mother. My mother also shared that fear, but she tried to hide it. She mostly spent her time cleaning house and keeping me out of trouble- a full time job I never thanked her enough for. She always encouraged my sister and I to pursue our talents. Everyone was proud of Cynthia's musical voice, and Momma always signed her up for school plays and church choir. My talent was art. She had my sketches posted in Daddy's office, the house, the church, the school, and whatever else she could pin them in.

The two story, narrow house was in view. There was a lonely tree on the left side of the house that stretched high and proud up to my second-story window. Flowers around the tree and under all of the windows- the upstairs windows and the downstairs windows- gave the simple, brown house some life and color. The farthest window to the right was open to relieve the house, and Momma was looking out from it.

"Mary! Cynthia! Come here now and help me fix dinner! Your father will be home in an hour, and I only have half of it all done!"

We immediately ran inside and grabbed our aprons. Cynthia was pulling out the dishes to set the table as I began making some sweet tea. If Daddy was getting a promotion we should celebrate, no matter the cost of sugar.

"Momma's going to be mad at you!" Cynthia whispered, reaching in front of me to grab some silverware.

"Why? I didn't use too much sugar. Besides sweet tea will go great with the peach pie Momma made today."

"Momma made peach pie?"

I couldn't help smiling with her. Momma made the best peach pie, and she only used Aunt Norma's peaches. The Georgia native had brought the secret of peach growing when she moved here five years ago, and Aunt Norma didn't give out her peaches often. Momma must have known about the promotion. Maybe Daddy called her.

"Why? Better yet, do we have some ice cream to go with it?"

"No, no ice cream."

"What are you girls whispering about? Come on, more work, less talk!" Momma said as she came in with a sack of potatoes. Her tall, skinny frame looked even thinner behind the bulging sack, and her dirty brown hair tied back showed her kind, country-girl face that came alive when she saw me. "Mary! What are you wearing, child? Goodness, where do you buy such things? Never mind. Just go change before your father gets home!"

I didn't think I looked that bad, but then again, my mom was very traditional. I changed out of my sunshine yellow dress and white flats. I pulled my hair up into a tight, dull bun before searching for the dullest dress I owned. I was a proper, brown thing, long sleeves that should never be worn in this summer heat. It had white cuffs and a white collar, and I hated it more than anything else I owned.

"Wear it for Daddy," I mumbled under my breath as I walked back downstairs.

The three of us worked in the hot kitchen, peeling potatoes, steaming vegetables, cooking the chicken. We talked a little, but mostly we stayed on task. When everything was finished we set the table, and poured every one some tea- Momma didn't know I sweetened it yet. Before too long Daddy came home.

Daddy wasn't tall for a man, about the same size as Momma, but the way he carried himself showed that he was proud and the head of the family. He also had blonde hair and bright blue eyes, the only thing I had in common with anyone in my house. Normally he looked happy to be home, but today he was sad or sick. His eyes didn't sparkle like a man with a great promotion.

"Daddy! What's wrong? Didn't Mr. Callon give you the promotion?" I asked completely forgetting that Cynthia never told Momma that I saw again today.

"Mary, you didn't, did you?" Her voice was hallow and weak with fear.

"Oops. Yeah, I did."

"But what about the pills?" Daddy asked, his voice just as shaken as Momma's. "Aren't you taking them?"

"I watch her take them every morning, Harold."

"Then why didn't you tell us they weren't working, Mary?"

"Because nothing's working, and I'm tired of taking medicine. Can we please forget about that? What about your job?"

Daddy sighed and placed his rough hands on my shoulders, very careful not to touch my bare neck. He leaned down and kissed my bun and walked to the table.

"There's no promotion," he said at last.

So I'd been wrong. That was weird, not a first, but not the norm either.

"Maybe he'll talk to you about it tomorrow," I said, silently praying that my vision would come true.

"Drop it, Mary. I love my job; I don't need a promotion. "So, no Pelxico case?" "No. My family is more important that that."

"What are you talking about, Harold?"

"Daddy, you've wanted to be a head counselor all my life!" Cynthia cried.

"Mary, hand me those mashed potatoes over there. Come on. Let's fill our plates and say grace," Daddy grumbled.

"Harold," Momma said sternly.

"Mr. Callon was told that Mary is a bit… odd. Someone saw you…" He waved his hand vaguely in the air, as if he could say the truth. Probably couldn't. "He wants me to get you some medical help."

"Medical help? I'm already taking these stupid pills!"

"Mary!"

"That's not what he meant. You know I don't want to take you to see someone. I told him you were fine, and I lost the case."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I whispered, hoping my voice wouldn't crack. Tears fell down my face.

"Enough of this sad talk," Momma said before taking a sip of tea. "MARY! Why did you sweeten the tea?"

"I thought we were celebrating."

"I guess I shouldn't blame you. Well, it'll be nice with the dessert," she said.

"Yum! Peach pie!" Cynthia giggled.

"How do you know about that? I hid it… Again, Mary?"

I quickly smiled and began to say grace.