Moondance (13 page)

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“Milo’s a hard man to say no to,” he said. “Believe me, I’ve been trying to leave him for years now.”

“You never leave. You always come back.” Michael laughed. The woman looked blankly at them, took her change and left.

Lara’s brother, who was going through a divorce and dating again, said that he had found some women so confusing — some expected him to always pay whether or not they made more money than him, but when he offered to open the door for them, it was as if this small gesture could irrevocably diminish their independence. It was confusing, he said. Michael understood. This woman was confusing and he wasn’t even trying to date her. He wondered if she ever smiled and if she did, what would coax it out of her.

He could hear Lara’s voice.
What did he want to do? Set her up with his brother-in-law?
He wanted to see if she had dimples. That’s all. He wanted to make her laugh.

Milo was asking for twenty-eight dollars and Michael handed over forty. He stooped to pet Coal while he waited for change, talking to Milo, telling some work stories, mimicking Stefan, who was Ralph’s boss, cold and odd. When he looked up again, the woman was looking at him.
Maybe she remembers
. He smiled at her. She turned away to answer her cell phone. He took his change.

When he looked up again, she was gone.

chapter 18

SOPHIE SAT IN THE shade of her back yard. It was a hot, humid day but there was enough air moving to make it comfortable. Her wrists rested on her knees, and her eyes were closed. She was breathing from the belly. As she breathed, she thought about Althea.

Sophie had given Althea the Ouija board when she was seven and was delighted when Althea began using it every day. She had also given her a lined, hardcover notebook so she could record the messages that came through. Later, Althea had begun to write. Magical tales about bringing her father and brother back, and later, Albert. Stories she would give to Sophie until she got older and she and Sophie began to fight.

Since Althea and Kevin broke up, Althea had immersed herself in school and Sophie had seen her only for a few days at Christmas. The MBA was good for her daughter, Sophie had to admit. Becoming immersed in business was a harmless way to escape. Why shouldn’t she? Men had been doing it for years.

Sophie was not a passive woman, nor timid. Unlike the family she grew up with, she did not believe in organized religion. She left home at seventeen and met Albert shortly after that — about the same time she met Althea’s father. She had been fond of Albert, who had been kind to her during the worst time in her life. From him, she’d learned a lot. He had helped her claim her own power.

As her body relaxed, merging with the air in her lungs, she pictured a white cotton pillow that inflated with her breaths, and each time she breathed in, it got a little bigger, like a parachute reaching toward the
sky. She was close, and she knew it. She had been this close once before.

She envisioned the shape of two doors, like the perforation in a box of cereal. The doors opened wide, as if to catch something falling from the sky, which in a way she was. She was exceptionally high now, the doors stretching up, opening. Her body was relaxed, her face slack, her knees comfortable considering her arthritis. When she meditated like this, she was free of her aches and pains.
So close
. She felt a barrier, as if someone put a thumb on her forehead. She asked the question anyway and was not surprised at the silence that followed.
Not today
.

That was okay. She’d wait.

Her body slowed gradually. In her mind’s eye, the pillow got smaller,
collapsing into itself like a parachute coming to earth. There was a glow in the sky just beyond her reach.

She didn’t get a response to her question, but she knew that response
might come from a number of sources — through her dreams, for example, or most likely through her logic. There was a universe out there, bursting with information, but she never underestimated her own will. She had honed it, nurtured it for decades and she believed it was growing each day.

Sophie looked at her watch. She had been sitting under the tree for over four hours. In the old days, she and Albert had met people who were able to meditate for days without food or drink.

She got up, stretched her legs, picked up her towel and thought
about Althea. Sophie knew that she’d be calling soon. When she tapped
into Althea’s energy earlier, she’d had a weariness about her. This was a good sign.

She knew Althea was seeing someone, someone older. This she didn’t discover during her meditations. She’d seen him drop Althea off just before Christmas. Someone from school, perhaps. Where else would she
have time to meet someone? By the look of the car he drove, possibly a professor. That would be an interesting twist, wouldn’t it?

In her kitchen, Sophie consulted a notebook. Inside were pages of lists — shopping, errands, life objectives. Lists. The lists calmed her, like her meditation. Every time she completed a task, she meticulously crossed it off the list. Sometimes, she wrote specific tasks on post-it notes, placing them strategically around the house — on her bedside table, on the front door, on her steering wheel. When the notes were in place, she could relax and do other things. Like ask the universe for more information. Which of course, created more lists.

Althea used to tease her that she was the only retired person she knew who used a day-timer and had threatened to get her a computer. Sophie argued. What did she need the internet for? The answers she wanted couldn’t be found on the internet.

The bound book recorded Sophie’s days, which were often planned weeks in advance. For today’s entry, she had written a single symbol, one that Albert would have been familiar with, and beside the symbol, she had stroked off the entire afternoon and written the word “outside” followed by a question mark and underneath, another task: “check weather.”

She made a pot of tea and set the timer. She looked at the notebook, flipped a few pages, and made a check mark.

chapter 19

IT WAS A FRIDAY night in August, the first weekend she’d had off in weeks, and Althea ordered Vietnamese food for delivery. She removed a McAuslan Pale Ale from the freezer, drinking down half of it in one gulp, the ice crystals melting on her tongue. She added some hot sauce to the pho noodles and sipped the sweet beef broth, her first meal of the day. She opened a second beer, put on Tom Waits’ CD Closing Time, and sunk into her chair-and-a-half, letting the tension of the last few weeks slide off her. Tom sang, his gravely voice a perfect contrast with the slow, bluesy piano. Slow-dancin’ in a cowboy bar kinda music, Kevin used to say. Kevin had given her that particular cd — he was always introducing her to new artists.

When George called the other night, she hadn’t been surprised. He had already left two messages on her cell phone that day. He called her often — while he was traveling for business, as he entertained at his cottage, between classes. At his persistence, she felt her defenses weaken. Her decision to see him that night was instantaneous, impulsive. As she waited for him at her apartment, in exactly the way he asked her to wait, her excitement had grown. She craved the pain, the measure of his voice, and with it, the promise of escape.

He stayed until almost four in the morning. The next morning, Simone was incensed. Althea didn’t care. Three days later, Rob delivered the pitch document by hand, ten minutes before it was due. Then, for the first time in six weeks, Althea had a weekend to herself.

After getting a third beer, she pulled out an old brown case that once held taped music but which today, only had one use: taped sessions with Michelle.

Her fingers moved over the clear plastic spines as though she was traveling backward in time. She thought about the last time she had seen Michelle, over the Christmas holidays last year. She had asked a number of self-indulgent questions about George.

“Why are you asking this? It said that he’s no good for you in the last card. Let it go, Althea.”

“Just one more card.”

“Okay, it’s your money. The truth about George.”

Althea picked a card.

“The Devil. Michelle’s eyes held a challenge. “You’re obsessed with him.”

Her fingers moved from the most recent tape, further back. She remembered the words Michelle used many times to wrap up a reading:
Okay Althea, this is a big one. Close your eyes and on the count of three, pick a card. This is the answer to all of the questions you came here to ask
. Althea’s fingers traced the spines
one, two, three
she mouthed, and picked up a tape. She put the cassette into a portable player, fast-forwarded it randomly and pushed play.

There was white noise, then Michelle’s voice — a voice she knew, butterscotch, humorous, ageless — and her own, sounding much lighter and softer than she imagined herself to be. She was talking about Tori and Kevin. This was the weekend she drove back from Kingston and ran out of gas. Almost a year ago now. Her finger moved toward the stop button, her heart heavy. Her own voice spoke.

“Will they be happy together?”

She had not asked the question because she wanted them to be happy. She wanted them to be wracked with guilt. She wanted the cards to confirm their betrayal by picking a dark, ugly card. The nine of swords, a chilling card with a man on his knees in surrender, nine swords stacked horizontally over his head. It conveyed pain, remorse and depression. She wanted to pick the ten of cups in the reversed position, a card that depicts a beautiful young couple with their arms around each other, a rainbow of cups above, and which upside down indicates failed relationships, sorrow and strife. She wanted to know that they would be punished for what they did.

“Pick a card.” Michelle said.

From the speakers, Althea heard a swoosh as she chose a card, and a crisp click as she placed it on the table. She listened as she finished her beer, and poured herself a scotch. She’d feel this tomorrow. Today, she felt apathy. Michelle’s recorded voice slowed, like a melody gently revealing its notes.

“You know this card, don’t you Althea?”

Sitting in her living room, knowing what was coming next, Althea’s anger and resentment grew as she listened. Her finger poised over the stop button, her heart aching as she remembered.

In the tarot deck, a card can be pulled either right side up, or reversed. The reversed meaning of a good card is generally bad and a reversed negative card, is generally good. The four of wands was the card of marriage partners and families and a working together for a harmonious life. And the only card in the deck that meant the same thing reversed.

“This is a beautiful, loving card. Their relationship is likely to be a good one.”

The words hurt as much as the first time.

“I want to pull a card for Tori.”

“A general card?”

“Yes, general, where she’s at right now, what the cards think of her.”

She wanted to give the cards another opportunity to place blame.
Court cards, the queens, kings, knights and pages, described individuals.
She wanted a regal Queen that had fallen into reverse, a Queen who was selfish and spiteful, upside down.

“Pick a card that represents what we don’t know about Tori,” Michelle said.

The card clicked. Althea drank some scotch and lay down on her living room floor, remembering, a silent tear welling up, her chest heavy. The room spun and she felt nauseous. Michelle’s voice.

“The Empress, which represents the nurturing mother, women and fertility.” Michelle had stopped to let the idea sink in. “Is Tori pregnant?” she asked.

“I don’t think so. I don’t know,” Althea had replied. Having kids had always been a bone of contention in her relationship with Kevin. He thought she’d grow into it. She thought she wouldn’t — she not only didn’t want kids, she hated the idea.

During the session, Althea had continued to be self-indulgent. She had pulled a card for Kevin, and another one for their happiness, for their relationship — will it last? — asking the cards for some reassurance, some indication that she had a right to be angry. Michelle played along for a while — more than she usually did.

“Enough about Kevin and Tori. The cards are getting tired. Let’s ask, why did this happen?”
Click
. Althea remembered the card that came up: a man lay on the ground, dead, ten swords buried in his back.

“It’s a test. Part of your growth in this life. I want you to read this for me.” Michelle had passed her a well-used book, its pages soft.

“‘You may have pinned your faith on someone who betrayed it,’ she read. ‘But now is the time to let go.’”

There was a pause on the tape, then Althea’s voice.

“This is bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit, Althea. All experiences that we have happen for our growth. This card also says that if you fight this, nothing good will come. That’s not to say you shouldn’t express what you feel. Have you confronted them?”

“Once when he showed up at the apartment. Once when she called — I hung up on her. I also wrote them, more than once, but —”