Rocks & Gravel (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 3) by Catie Rhodes Page B

full lips together she disagreed, but she simply handed the black opal back to me without saying anything. We sat in silence for several long moments. Rainey’s forehead crinkled, a line appearing between her perfectly plucked, maybe even waxed or threaded, brows. Finally, she turned to me.
    “May I tell you why this is such a big deal to me?”
    I thought I knew, but refusing to listen might cause her to have an outburst, and I didn’t want any part of one of Rainey’s fits. Aliens in outer space feared Rainey Bruce’s temper.
    “I think we can talk from the perspective of two women who share an understanding of what it is to be the odd woman out. Me because of the color of my skin. You because you have this quirky gift.” She raised her eyebrows at me in question. I nodded to show I agreed.
    “These journals represent what my family overcame in this county, what we achieved in spite of racism and lack of opportunity.”
    A calico cat slunk into the room and bounded onto the couch. Rainey petted it with the back of her fingers. I wondered how she kept her couches so clean, why she bothered to buy furniture so receptive to showing dirt, if she had this cat. For the first time ever, I saw the complexities Rainey faced in being Rainey.
    “My ancestor Hezekiah Bruce, who wrote the journals, came here with nothing yet managed to build a solvent business and gain respect in the community. His son, Isaiah, worked his way up at Longstreet Lumber to become the first black foreman. Isaiah’s son, who was my grandfather, became the first black judge in Burns County. We march forward, no matter what, no matter how badly it hurts.”
    I didn’t understand where this was going or how I was supposed to respond.
    “Letting those journals go, writing them off without fighting to get them back, seems like I’m saying I don’t respect the sacrifices my family made or the road they fought to pave for me.”
    “I can see what you mean, but—”
    “Still not finished.” She held up one hand. “It would be bad enough to let go of my family history, but losing the history of what happened to Priscilla Herrera, poor woman, rankles even more. She deserves for people to know her story, the persecution she faced, as much as my ancestors do. It surprises me how much your story parallels hers, and how it doesn’t seem to matter to you.” She settled her intense gaze on me, and it took a while before I realized she expected me to speak, to explain.
    “People think because I’m a Mace, I’m treasure crazy. They think because I can see ghosts, I’m a freak of nature. Both together is like being an attraction in a carnival. People pointing all the time, laughing, jeering. I’ve dealt with it all my life, and I’m sick of it. I want to pretend to be normal.”
    She barked a short, bitter laugh. “At least you can pretend to be something you’re not. I don’t have that luxury.”
    My cheeks flamed. Of course she didn’t. The prejudices she faced wouldn’t go away, no matter what she did. She gave me a tight smile as though she knew the thoughts in my mind better than I did.
    “Here’s what I see: a thirty-one-year-old woman who wants to hide from who and what she is when she could use it to better both herself and the world around her.”
    I shook my head. “Not when people think I’m a Satanist. Don’t you remember when Felicia told everyone I was a Satanist? Back in eighth grade?”
    “So what? Who cares what assholes think?” Rainey yelled the words at the ceiling. The calico cat raised its head and regarded its crazy mistress. “Let me tell you something, Peri Jean Mace. You’re going to face prejudiced, bigoted assholes for the rest of your life. This woman whose book of folk medicine was stolen along with the journals, paid the ultimate price for standing up against mean, hateful bullies.”
    Her words stung, but they didn’t change how I felt. The journals and the folk medicine book belonged to the Mace treasure