The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Carly was thirteen years old when her grandfather told her that he would be gone before the next winter's snow; this would be their last summer together. Then he told her about what she had already inherited; her gifts. And how they were going to spend their last summer together practicing, developing, understanding these gifts. There was much to do he said and she had to be brave and listen and concentrate.   

There, in her grandfather's cabin, where she had spent so many of her happiest summers, she had felt the first piercing stab of grief, the kind that augers adulthood. Her eyes darkened and she sniffed hard, brushing a sleeve under her nose as the magnitude of this terrible news that her grandfather had dispatched began to sink in.   

Her grandfather, keen to bring her attention back to matters that they could do something about, got up from his window seat and reached for a box from a high shelf at the back of the room. Carly watched as he placed the small painted wooden box on the table in front of her. Curiosity usurped the bad news and left it to wander off by itself, far enough to get lost and not come back. Potential good news was now sitting directly in front of her. He pushed the little box towards her and flipped the lid open. A small, flat, grey stone with white lines running through it, lay nestled in a bed of soft black velvet. A beach pebble? Her nose wrinkled with disappointment and she rolled her eyes, what kind of gift was this? Gently, he nudged the box towards her then sat back, saying nothing, but watching closely. Carly sighed, giving him the benefit of the doubt and, flicking him a disapproving glance, picked up the little stone.   

Holding it in the palm of her hand the stone became warmer. She noticed first the change in its colour; fading from grey to a deep purple then lightening to a shimmering sea blue, like the ocean in a sandy cove, on the sunniest of days. Mesmerized, she followed the white lines on it with her finger, turning it over as the lines continued underneath it. What a beautiful little thing you are, she thought. Then she felt an energy begin to slowly but gently throb in her hand. Then it grew faster until it became a low vibration. Suddenly, it rushed from her hand, up her arm, through her chest and beyond, to every part of her body. She was tingling in every place in her being, feeling like she was glowing from the inside out, a seismic wave rolling through her whole body. She looked at her grandfather, the shock on her face transforming into a beaming smile, threatening to spreading over her whole face. He matched her expression, nodding, relieved that she had now met the gift, the power that she would spend the rest of their last summer together mastering. His legacy to her. Her inheritance to use and succeed in whatever she chose to do.  

Carly's twenties were flying by, each year bringing a new adventure, a new lover or two, and a growing momentum towards her ultimate goal. Carly had worked every fayre and festival, following the sun, and had built a reputation as a professional and reliable teller of her customers life's fortunes. Now she had set her sights on breaking into the world of television. She had found a tiny room to rent in a cheap part of town and set up a parlour there, hidden away just enough to intrigue and create an air of exclusivity for potential clients but also affordable through the lean times, when the winter weather kept the vacation trade away.   

Her alter ego, Madame Charlotta had been created, practiced and perfected in that dingy room. As marketable as any big-name brand in the business, Carly was impatient to take the next step to realizing her ambition to break into the media world. A key component of her plan was her latest lover, Elliot, who could, if directed correctly, provide her with the support she needed to make her break into the small screen business. When they met, he had been a manager in a two-bit hiking gear store with low self-esteem and even less self-worth; she had only needed to use the simplest of her gifts, persuasion, to convince him that he was in love with her.   

A weak minded but kind soul, Elliot had been easily swayed at first. It had taken only a year, with her counsel, for him to build up the courage to quit his job, and start working on managing their production company, with the singular aim of producing a successful pitch for Carly's television debut. But recently, he had been distracted by other women, on more than one occasion, so Carly had decided that a new plan of attack was required to ensure Elliot's loyalty and refocus his attention on her.  

She called out his latest indiscretion after he failed to land a pitch with a station in the city, using his business failure to precede this romantic philandering. After the predictable floods of tears and over an hour of begging for forgiveness, Elliot was, once again, on his knees. Literally and emotionally. Carly's vicious sense of timing stood her in good stead, knowing exactly the moment to strike, with extreme prejudice. Desperate that Carly absolve his behaviour, Elliot promised never agains to her and will do betters for her business dreams. Elliot had become so adept at painting himself into corners, he made it so easy for Carly to produce solutions that he would see as his best and only way out. Options that she would feed him, he would swallow, be reassured and remain grateful. This time, Carly opted for the ultimate power move - a marital agreement. If he really loved her, if he really meant what he promised, then he would prove it. Marry her, put a ring on it. Elliot didn’t even hesitate, believing this to be his best chance to make things completely right with Carly, to show her what kind of a man he really could be and to get past this awfulness. He salvaged one knee from the floor to assume the traditional position of the hopeful proposer. He offered her everything he had, the savings he had scrimped to put by, his renewed dedication to getting her that deal, his body and soul forever. If she would say yes, if she would only say yes. Three weeks later, Mr and Mrs Elliot Sampson flew home from Las Vegas, hungover from drinking a long weekend's worth of cheap champagne and both with rings on their fingers.

Another year went by and there was still no television deal. Carly grew increasingly frustrated with Elliot's failure to do what he had promised, get Madame Charlotta her own show. On the evening of their second wedding anniversary, they had fought again about the lack of achievement. The discussion started before they went out and continued into a fully-fledged argument while they sat at dinner. On their way home, they were still fighting.  Elliot had been driving. His foot pressed harder on the accelerator as he defended his position. The tail end of a storm was still battering the town, leaving debris on the roads. It was dark and the rain had yet to let up. Elliot didn't see the tree branch on the road until he turned the sharp corner and by then it was too late to avoid it. The car smashed into the broken wood, ripping into the passenger side, demolishing the wing and mangling the nearside corner. The breaks howled as the car skidded to a halt, the headlights flashed wildly then went out on one side. The horn blasted as Elliot passed out and his head fell against the centre of the steering wheel. Carly groaned, trying to move but her legs were wedged by the collapsed metal and plastic engulfing them. Elliot was released from the hospital after two days but Carly remained there for two months. She finally left the building to come home in a wheelchair; this was a permanent arrangement.   

After the accident, during the long months of her recovery, she pondered on what would happen now. She had become more reliant on Elliot than she would ever be comfortable with. He was an attentive carer but the time he spent looking after her was time not spent on the plan. Carly realized that she would have to resort to using her most powerful gift, if she was ever to attain the success, she had been planning all these years.  

Elliot gingerly opened the little wooden box Carly had set down on the table. He didn't even begin to understand what she had been talking about but he was excited now to see this thing that could hold such power. His expectations were dashed when he saw the little grey pebble; his face dropped like a child who had been promised ice cream but was given spinach. Carly reassured him that he would not be disappointed if he just picked the stone up and held it in his hand for a moment. He hung his head to one side, like a dog that doesn't understand where their treat has gone. Sighing, he picked the little rock out of its box and rolled it in his hand. He was immediately impressed how utterly perfectly it fitted, as it settled there, nestling like it was made to be in the palm of his hand. Then, as it sat there, warming from his body heat, he saw the most peculiar thing. It began to change colour. A beaming smile flashed across his face as he felt the first burst of the most fantastic sensation, he had ever known race up his arm and on through his entire body. 

Carly would never be sure if what sealed the deal on her pilot television series had been her own persona and performance as Madame Charlotta or the fact that Elliot had pulled off his most persuasive pitch, for the right people, at the right moment, that she had ever heard him make. Either way, she didn't really care. They had worked hard. She shared her gift. Now, finally, she had got exactly what she had always wanted.