I was sitting in my minivan, admittedly shocked.
My innocent children were innocent no more. Gone were the days where they would blindly accept Mommy's complaints of a tummy ache or of a rare skin disease or my even vaguer explanation that "Mommy is just cold."
I started and tried to predict the significance of Tammy also knowing that her mother was the freak of all freaks. I wondered if there was any hope that my kids might still might grow up to be normal...and that thought alone nearly overwhelmed me. I buried my face in my hands all over again. I sat like that until the tears stopped.
As I sat there, face in my hands, two things occurred to me: one, how deep my hate was for the angel, Ishmael; and, two, that my daughter was steadily growing more psychic.
And when, exactly, did that happen?
I didn't know or had been too busy to notice. And where did these gifts come from? I didn't know that either. My son's own great strength was far easier to explain away. That his sister would also have abilities was beyond me.