An Excerpt From By Chance
January 10, 2015, McPherson Home
Nyla knows her daughter will visit today. She saw this moment long before Tara’s troubles started. For thirty-eight years, and before Tara was born, Nyla has been waiting for this day. With the onset of the girl’s troubles, she realizes Tara will have no choice but to embrace her gift of precognition. The aroma of blueberry cobbler fills the home, Tara’s favorite treat. Nyla hopes the bittersweet dessert will soothe her fear. If not, a chilled bottle of red wine is ready on the dining room table.
Nyla recalls the intensity of her dreams and visions while carrying Tara during her pregnancy. The images were so vivid and precise, she feared for her unborn daughter. She was so fearful, she avoided touching her swollen belly. With each touch, the visions became clearer and clearer. She’s seen the exact date and time of Tara’s troubles, and most disconcerting, there’s nothing she can do to change her fate. Nonetheless, she will help her daughter develop her talent when the time comes. Today is that day.
“Hello, honey,” Nyla said without turning around.
“Mom, how’d you know it was me? I swear you have eyes on the back of your head.” Tara said in amazement.
Nyla turns around and proceeds to the dining table with the blueberry cobbler. “Honey, can you bring the bowls and spoons on the counter.”
With one raised eyebrow, Tara collects the utensils and follows Nyla to the dining table. “Were you expecting me? You only make blueberry cobbler when I visit.”
“Come; let’s talk.”
Placing the bowl and spoons on the table, she studies Nyla’s deliberate actions. Had she’s planned this moment. “Mom, you’re freaking me out.”
Nyla has to help her daughter relax. The conversation that will take place today is a crucial one. “Sit, honey, let’s eat.”
Tara surveys the table and her mother’s deliberate actions—cobbler and red wine—something’s up, besides the annoying chills radiating up and down her spine. “Okay, mom, since you knew I was coming, tell me why I’m here today?”
Without turning around, Nyla suspects a creeping frown across Tara’s forehead, and her warm hazel eyes deepening a darker shade of brown. She slices into the cobbler, filling Tara’s bowl with a huge chunk and a topping of whipped cream. With a sigh, she wipes her hands on a napkin. Taking a seat at the table, she finally acknowledges Tara’s face—a face, which reminds her so much of her own at thirty-eight. “Well, honey, things are happening to your body that causes you great distress. Tara, these are sensations I have also experienced. In fact, every woman in our family has experienced similar forebodings,” Nyla stated with unflinching eyes, trying to convey her point. “It’s your gift, Tara.”
By Chance © E. Denise Billups All Rights Reserved