Read Online Balance of Fragile Things by Olivia Chadha - Free Book Online

that allowed Eleanora’s kitchen and bathroom floors to match. How far had the little blue gems traveled to arrive in such a place? Were they made in China or Taiwan, or had some skillful Mexican or Italian man flattened a lump of clay into perfect thickness, sliced it into squares, and then fired it in a kiln? Maija wondered if he would hand paint each one or simply cover the squares with blue glaze and place them into the kiln’s inferno once more. She could see him bending slightly and sliding the tray into the fire, a movement not unlike a child from a fairy tale his grandmother had told him about, a curious boy who was pushed into the oven and baked in the dough. Would he even have guessed that his tiles, from far across the Pacific or Atlantic and then a series of smaller seas, would arrive in a small town and play such a central role in a life so unaware of the importance of tile density and resistance? Maija couldn’t just come out and ask her. She couldn’t control the images and thoughts that poured into her mind as she stared across the counter at Eleanora Finch.
    Maija took one look at Eleanora and knew she would die soon. She would have a heart attack.
    Eleanora was the head of Cobalt High’s PTA. And here, this Sunday, Eleanora’s clogged arteries wouldn’t be death’s agent provocateur—no, it would be the blue-gray tiles that covered her shower that would crack her skull as her chest tightened and her feet slipped on the water.
    As Eleanora handed her the small piece of paper from Dr. Green’s office, her hand grazed Maija’s wrist, and through this teensy touch, Maija saw something worrisome. What she saw without her eyes was not a complete and total picture but a series of images and flashes of sounds: Eleanora’s floral Sunday dress hanging on a towel rack to loosen the wrinkles with steam; a shower running; a thud; blood mixing with water. It felt like a presage whispered to her from an inaudible voice . Maija took Eleanora’s prescription and told her it would be ready in ten to fifteen minutes if she wanted to wait. Hoping Eleanora would wait, Maija attempted to sound as pleasant as she could and even added a sappy smile at the end of her sentence. Eleanora smiled at Maija, asked her how she was, then turned her back to her before Maija could reply.
    Maija could never bring herself to truly rely on her visions. Sometimes the presage was dead on, and she felt it in every scruple of her being. She’d see something, and it would happen. Like the time she got up in the middle of the night with the feeling she should lock the door and in the morning heard that the neighbor’s house had been robbed. Other times, particularly when dealing with death, these phantasms of her mind were more imprecise and symbolic, as the recent one with Papaji seemed to be. They could also be a manifestation of her anxieties and fears. She’d never understood why she couldn’t see her family’s futures. That was a cruel joke. Or perhaps the sight had to have limitations. Without vulnerability, her ability would be too powerful. This gift was a curse. But perhaps the disturbing image of Eleanora lying like a dead fish on the floor of her shower, breathing in the water that had puddled around her body, meant only that she would have an awful fall. Maija’s mind may have altered the vision to include her latent feelings about Eleanora, who, since she had moved from the house next door five years ago, hadn’t called her once.
    No, she realized, this forecast was true. She had felt Eleanora’s heart stop and her throat close.
    Maija both believed and didn’t believe her visions. If she doubted them too much, she would doubt herself, and it would be maddening to think that she was lying to herself. Still, Maija’s confidence regarding her sight was waning because of her recent divination malfunction, the case of Mr. Bozeman. He came in last month