The Reluctant Psychic Ch. 13

It took a few minutes, but eventually Betsy gave my hand a squeeze. "I think I'm ready, it's just so strange, I don't know when you're going to start and when you're going to stop. Are you already reading my mind? I don't want you to leave me, not now. I'll just keep thinking that, that I don't want you to leave me. You left once, and it hurt so much, even though I knew you loved me. But you came back. I'm babbling, just stay at the table, I'll tell them later. Stay at the table, stay at the table."

Her thoughts were flowing so quickly, and bringing in so many associations. I pulled back again, hating myself for listening as long as I did. I thought back to her, "I'll stay at the table, you can stop repeating yourself now, and I'll stop listening."

I saw Betsy relax slightly as I withdrew from her thoughts, but I let her feel my love for her as I did. She squeezed my hand again and whispered, "I love you too."

It wasn't until breakfast was over that I realized that Katia hadn't joined us. When I asked about her absence I was told that she'd been called away on some sort of emergency at work, but she would try to make the funeral.

* * *

The funeral was a modest affair, to be held at graveside. A slew of black limousines arrived shortly after breakfast and took us all down the mountain. By unspoken agreement, Betsy and I rode alone in the first limo and the rest of the girls followed behind us. She settled in under my arm, resting her head against my shoulder. We didn't talk, and I left her thoughts alone as my own thoughts occupied my mind.

I was so concerned with what might become of Betsy's revelation that I forgot my concerns about the funeral until the limousine pulled into the cemetery. I scanned the people in the cemetery and didn't see any openly hostile minds waiting. I scanned as far as I could before I let Betsy climb out of the limousine.

There was a much larger crowd of people than I was expecting. Most of the hospital staff that worked in Steven's ward was present, as was the hospital's chief administrator and half of the board of trustees. I was pleased to read that they were there because of their deep respect for Betsy, and not just because an entire wing of the hospital was named after the deceased.

The mayor was also in attendance, standing close to the hospital trustees. The district attorney and his wife were also present, as were a few judges, city councilmen, and the like. Sometimes I forgot how well connected, and well respected, Betsy had become over the years. Being philanthropist of the year, tended to bring recognition.

But as I scanned the crowd, aside from myself and Betsy, there didn't seem to be anyone who actually knew Steven. I scanned further and finally found a duo hiding behind a mausoleum. They had been part of the old gambling circuit, rough around the edges but generally decent people. They'd come to pay their respects, but didn't feel proper mixing in with the respectable crowd.

The funeral was sadly generic, since it is hard to eulogize a man who'd been in a coma for more than a decade. As Steven's only friend openly present, I spoke a few words, "Steven was one of the greatest men I've known. He never had a lot in life, but he knew what things were important and held on to them. He once told me that only two things mattered to him: The first was being an honest man. He grew up and lived in a place where honesty was a weakness which brought only misfortune and pain. But even as men cheated him, he still played an honest hand."

What I said next I ensured that most of those gathered didn't hear. They heard me speaking, but phased the words out entirely, making up the usual eulogy words. I spoke for Betsy, but allowed the other girls to hear as well, "He never told me the second thing, not until after he was shot. The only thing Steven held more precious than his honesty was his daughter. In the circles we ran in, his love for her was a potential liability, something his enemies would gladly use against him. But that just made his love fiercer. I know he didn't have many choices left when he left Betsy to my care, but his trusting me to care for her, is one of the most humbling experiences of my life."

I let the others remember the rest, "To say that Steven was a good man and a loving father isn't enough, but there really isn't enough that can be said."

I stepped back over to stand with Betsy, and she looked up at me with thanks in her eyes. Her small hand snuck into the crook of my elbow, and she leaned against me ever so slightly. Not for the support so much as knowing the support was there. I didn't pay much attention to the rest of the service, not that there was much of it. I was too busy scanning the crowd and the cemetery, still worried that someone might be lurking.

I felt a tug at my elbow and realized that Steven was being lowered into the ground. Betsy had both hands on my elbow now, clinging to me. I wanted to put my arm around her, but I would have had to break her grip to manage. Instead I wrapped my free hand over her hands and squeezed gently. I thought of speaking soft words to her mind, but it seemed inappropriate to think words at a time when saying them would be indelicate.

The service concluded, and Betsy threw a bouquet of flowers onto the coffin. The girls each took a turn dropping in a single flower. I was last to walk by and instead of a flower I threw in a deck of cards. The pack was still sealed and the tamper proof markings in place. It was an odd sort of tribute, but it was easy enough to ensure that Betsy and I were the only ones who actually saw what I threw in.

An informal receiving line followed, where each of the guests took a moment to speak a few words to Betsy. I handled the hand shaking, encouraging the guests to be brief through subtle use of my powers. Of course, politicians being politicians, they easily picked up on the situation and sized up quickly what was expected and then parted discretely.

I sensed the two men hiding behind the mausoleum growing anxious. They were becoming unsure whether this was the right funeral, and wanted to sneak close to say a few private words. As the crowd thinned down, I encouraged them to come over. Betsy needed to know that her father had friends.

In fact, they were better friends to Betsy's father than I had been, because he'd trusted them with his secret. I felt more than saw Betsy go rigid in surprise as the two men approached. "Uncle Ron? Uncle Jeremy?" she asked in surprise tinged with happiness.

"Is that little Bets?" Ron asked in return, grinning down at her with a tear in his eye.

"Little Bets!" exclaimed Jeremy. He continued, "She's at least mid-sized Bets now."

I stood apart and let Betsy talk to the men who had known her father and her once upon a time. I wondered vaguely if I hadn't been around would one of these men have taken her in. From the way they talked about her father, and felt their words in their hearts, I knew they would have found some way to help. I could also see that they had very little help to offer.

I felt my heart lighten a bit as I came to understand that despite all my failings through the years, I might just have been a good father to Betsy after all.

* * *

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