Look Both Ways by Carol J. Perry Page A

of paper from the junk drawer Aunt Ibby had so thoughtfully started for me, poured myself a nice cup of that fully caffeinated, life-giving fluid, and began to make a list.
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    1. Buy china, table, and chairs.
    2. Buy bedside table and clock radio.
    3. Furnish the living room.
    That was as far as I got on the first cup. I was halfway through the second one when I thought of number four.
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    4. See if Mr. Pennington needs help.
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    Rupert Pennington was the executive director of the Tabby. Not only was he my boss at the school, but he’d also been dating my aunt pretty steadily. Although I had no classes to teach during the summer months, the Art, Dance, and Theater Arts Departments were still in session, and there was a new sound and lighting studio being built there, too. Maybe he could find something for me to do.
    â€œOkay, then, that’s four things,” I said, more to myself than to the cat. “I’d better get dressed and get started on one of them.” Most of my clothes were still downstairs, in my old bedroom, so I showered in my new bathroom, tossed on a robe, made my bed, and opened the door to the front hall. O’Ryan scooted out ahead of me and headed down to Aunt Ibby’s part of the house. The tantalizing smell of bacon and homemade bread wafted toward us from her kitchen.
    â€œOops. Forgot my watch.” I hurried back to the bedroom, grabbed my watch from the top of the bureau, then paused, looking at the lace runner–covered center panel.
    Why did I see the swirling colors and the sparkling lights in the brief instant when Pete lifted the panel? I wondered.
    Is there something I’m supposed to see in there? Something important?
    This scryer thing, this gazing ability I seem to have, isn’t anything I’ve ever wanted. According to the books I’d read since I learned that I actually have this weird ability, a scryer can see things in shiny, polished surfaces, and in my case, they apparently have to be black. It was less than a year ago that I discovered this “gift,” as River called it, although Aunt Ibby had known about it most of my life. River thinks I should use it as much as possible. She says it’s a blessing, something that could help people, the way she helps with the tarot cards. But River didn’t see her parents die in a fiery plane crash, watch her mother’s silent scream. She didn’t see a woman being murdered, unable to do anything about it. True, one of the visions had probably saved my life once, but I was still terrified of the whole creepy process.
    I reached again toward the top of the bureau, then pulled my hand away. I hurried from the room and raced down the stairs, heading for the warmth and safety of Aunt Ibby’s kitchen. O’Ryan was already there, enjoying a second breakfast from his own red bowl.
    â€œGood morning, Maralee,” my aunt called. “You’re up bright and early. Sit down and have some bacon and eggs and nice warm homemade bread. Where are you off to today?”
    I poured myself another cup of coffee and sat at the round kitchen table. “I’ve thought up four things I need to do,” I told her. “I haven’t decided which one I should start with.” I recited the list, counting each item off on my fingers.
    â€œAll worthy ideas,” she said, “and I’m sure Rupert will be happy for the help. He mentioned to me just yesterday that he was looking for a volunteer property manager for the summer theater program. Someone to find stage props for the plays they’ll be producing this summer.”
    I nibbled on a piece of crisp bacon. “I can do that.”
    â€œOf course you can. They have a really slim budget, though, so you’ll have to prowl around in thrift stores and beg, borrow, and steal from friends, I imagine, but it might be fun.”
    â€œOkay,” I said. “I’ll go to see Mr. Pennington first thing. I hope he