Too Far Under (21 page)

“I tried, but she was mad at me about
something else—it’s a long story—and she refused to listen.”

Oh, right. That long story about Shane and
the credit card. But I couldn’t say I knew about that. So I turned
the conversation back to Gramma’s situation. “Of course Gramma’s
situation would be different because she’d be living with me, so
I’d know more about what any caregiver is up to. And, anyway,
Gramma doesn’t have control of any of her money. It’s all in trust.
So she can’t give anything away.”

“That’s a point. I guess your concerns would
be more about cost and finding reliable caregivers—and deciding
whether you want to have her living with you.”

I thanked Tim for his help and drove home
running Gramma’s options through my head over and over, hoping to
stumble on a solution I hadn’t thought of yet. But no new ideas
popped up. I was leaning more toward bringing her home—after all it
is her house—if she had enough money to pay for caregivers. Not
caregivers like Glenna though, that’s for sure.

I pondered the sticky ethical issues involved
in whether Glenna had duped Tim’s dad and how she might be duping
Vernon Evers. On the one hand, these older men had earned their
money and if they wanted to give it to Glenna in exchange for care
and whatever else, shouldn’t that be their choice to make? On the
other hand, Glenna was a strange one. Who knew what she was up
to?

Had Mirabel actually listened to Tim’s
warning about Glenna? I wished I knew. I remembered Shane saying
that Mirabel thought Glenna was after Vernon’s money, and was
trying to get him to dump her. I got a sudden impulse to add
Glenna’s name to the list of people who wanted to get rid of
Mirabel.

I got up early the next morning. I love
starting my week with a Monday before-work yoga class. Determined
to put the Townes family issues out of my mind, I welcomed the
focus on breathing and body alignment. I left the session with a
relaxed body and a clear mind, ready for a busy day with grieving
clients.

At my office, I was much too busy to think
about anything else until about 4:00, when I looked up from some
complicated patient insurance forms to find Angelica standing
silently in front of my desk watching me. “Angelica!” I shrieked in
a very untherapist-like voice. “What are you doing here? And how
did you get in without me knowing it?”

“I tried the door and it was unlocked, so I
came in. I was quiet so as not to disturb you. I have to talk to my
mother about my dad and Judith, and I need you to help me reach
her.”

She stood very still with her usual glassy
calm air as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Good
grief. She was a strange child. But, as usual, I felt drawn to this
ten-year-old girl set adrift by the death of her mother. She seems
both perfectly peaceful and vulnerable at the same time in a way
that speed-dialed my helpfulness gene. I still didn’t know if she
was special with unique abilities, but I did know she needed help.
I wanted to solve her problems, but what could I do? For sure I
couldn’t talk to her here.

“Angelica, you know I can’t do that,” I said
reluctantly. I didn’t want to put her out on the street, so I said,
“You need to go home. I have my car out back. I’ll drive you.”

“Cleo, it’s important that I talk to my
mother. I know things and I have a bad feeling about what’s going
to happen. You’re the only one who can help me, and I can tell that
you want to help.”

I tried to couch my severe message in as soft
and kindly voice as possible. “Angelica, I can’t help you because
your father won’t allow it, and if I don’t get you out of this
office I’ll lose my license to practice and I won’t be able to help
anyone. So please let me take you home.”

Her face fell. “You don’t understand. You’re
stuck at a level of conflict because you can’t see the energy
beyond that. But I’ll go with you.”

Stuck because I can’t see the energy? That
sounded like something Tyler would say. Probably something Tyler
had said. Maybe Angelica truly is tuned in to a higher plane.

Balancing my anxiety over having Angelica in
my office with my desire not to make her feel rushed out, I locked
up the office and led her out to my car in the parking area behind.
“Where do you live?” I asked, as we buckled ourselves into our
seatbelts. She gave me directions to a house in northwest Boulder
so I headed north on Broadway. “Angelica, you’ve told me you’re an
Indigo child and you’re the first Indigo I’ve ever met,” I said as
we drove along. “I’d love to hear more about what it’s like for you
if you’re willing to tell me.”

She remained silent and still, looking out
the window on her side of the car. I wondered whether I had crossed
a line by asking. Should I apologize? But after a few minutes, she
turned toward me. “I don’t mind telling you, but it’s hard in some
ways because I don’t know what it’s like not growing up
Indigo.”

“I understand,” I said. “You can only tell me
about your own experiences.”

She looked off to the side again as she began
to speak “As long as I can remember, I’ve known things that other
people don’t seem to know. Sometimes I know what’s going to happen
before it does—like when the phone’s going to ring and who is
calling and why. And I can see auras. Yours is mostly turquoise, so
I know you’re a good listener and a caring person. When I was
little, I thought everyone could see the colors around people, but
then I realized that most of them don’t. I know I’m different than
most kids my age. Some of them think I’m weird. But that’s okay.
There’s no way they can understand.”

“What is it like to feel so different from
other kids,” I said.

She looked pained, like an ordinary
ten-year-old who felt marginalized would look. “Sometimes it’s
hard,” she said. Then her expression changed back to her wise
Indigo smile. “But mostly I don’t want to be like them,” she said
quietly. “They’re just trying to all be the same. I don’t need
them. I’m my own best friend.”

Whew. That attitude could make for problems
at school for sure. “Is it hard to go to school when you feel that
way?” I asked.

“The thing I hate about school is that you
have to be there every day,” she said, “and I’m not the same person
every day.”

She was silent for a minute, smiling to
herself. Then she said, “Turn left at the next street.”

She guided me along a couple of curvy streets
lined with upscale houses set on large landscaped lots, and into
the driveway of a huge two-story white house on an extra-large
wooded lot. Just as I pulled in, a black SUV zoomed around the
corner and into the driveway right behind me. Oh great, here I was
with Angelica, stuck in their driveway. And unfortunately for me
the driver of the SUV turned out to be Judith Demar. As Angelica
opened the car door and got out, Judith jumped out of her car, ran
up and grabbed her by the arm. “Where have you been?” she asked
angrily. “You were supposed to wait for me after school. I don’t
have time to spend all afternoon looking for you.”

Angelica ignored her and turned to me. “Bye,
Cleo,” she said. “Thanks for the ride.” That would have been the
time for me to say, “You’re welcome,” and drive off into the
sunset. But Judith’s SUV was still blocking my way out of the
driveway.

As soon as she heard Angelica say, “Bye
Cleo,” Judith noticed me sitting in my car. “What are you doing
with Angelica?” she shrieked. “I know Derrick and I made it clear
last week that you do not have our permission to treat her.”

Angelica started toward the house, but Judith
grabbed her arm again and pulled her back. “Not so fast,” she said.
“I want to know what you and Cleo have been doing.”

I took a deep breath to calm myself, then
spoke quietly and evenly. “I gave her a ride home, Judith. No
treatment.” Which was essentially the truth. No point getting
Angelica in hot water by reporting that she’d showed up at my
office. I continued in my calmest voice, “Now, if you’ll move your
car for a minute so I can get out, I’ll be out of your way.”

Judith ignored me and faced Angelica in a
confrontational stance. “I need some answers here. Why are you
getting a ride home from Dr. Sims when you knew I was coming to
pick you up at school?”

Uncharacteristically, Angelica looked angry.
She stuck her face right back in Judith’s and said with a typical
pre-teen sneer, “You’re not my mother and it’s no business of yours
what I do or who I see. You think you know everything about my dad
but you don’t. Two weeks before my mom died, I heard Dad promise
her that he wouldn’t see you anymore.”

With that, Angelica turned and stalked off
toward the front door without waiting to hear what Judith might say
in return. Judith looked like she’d been slapped. Then to my
surprise she sank down onto a wrought iron bench under a big tree
and burst into tears.

So she isn’t a totally tough nut after all, I
thought. I wondered whether she was upset at the news that Angelica
had hurled at her, or whether she was mostly frustrated at her
inability to get along with Angelica. Either way, I wasn’t feeling
especially sympathetic, but I did need her to move her SUV so I
could get out of the driveway and be on my way. I couldn’t bring
myself to yell a reminder about moving her SUV while she was
sobbing, so I took a deep breath, got out of my car, walked over
and stood next to the bench.

“I know this afternoon hasn’t gone the way
you hoped it would,” I said, “but I want you to know that all
Angelica and I did together was drive here.”

Judith stopped crying and sat silently
looking at the ground beneath her feet. Then she looked up at me
and said, “Despite what she thinks, I don’t hate Angelica and I
don’t want to hurt her. I can see she’s a troubled child and I’m
trying to help her. But she’s arrogant and willful and Derrick
encourages that behavior by letting her have her own way most of
the time. He thinks he can’t say no to her because her mother died.
I’m having a hell of a time getting him to see how she manipulates
him with this Indigo nonsense.”

I wondered again why Derrick was
relinquishing his parental role to Judith. And why was she telling
me all this? After insisting that there was no way I could treat
Angelica, was she trying to draw me in to the family drama in a way
that would support her point of view? No way was I going to respond
to anything she’d said. “I can see you’re frustrated, Judith,” I
said quietly. “Maybe you and Derrick should find a couples
counselor to discuss this with. But I need to get back to my office
now, so could you please move your car and let me out?”

She nodded silently, got up and backed her
car out. I quickly got in my car and drove off. I noticed my cell
phone beeping from inside my purse to let me know I had a message,
so I grabbed it out and checked the caller ID as I drove. It was
Lacey. I punched in my code and listened to her message.

As usual, she sounded frantic. “Cleo, I
thought Grandad could help me get Dad to let Angelica work with you
and then Angelica could be the one to contact Mom. But Glenna
doesn’t approve of your work and Grandad won’t go against her. I
tried one more time to get Dad to give in about letting Angelica
work with you, but it was no go. So I’m giving up on that. I can
see that I need to be the one who does your contact session, so we
need to schedule one ASAP. Call me back. Please, please call!” she
begged with her usual dramatic urgency. “We can’t waste any more
time.”

The more I thought about the mess the Townes
family seemed to be in, the more I myself wanted someone to reach
Mirabel. Maybe she’d been murdered and maybe she hadn’t, but either
way it seemed that it would be good for them to find out what they
could. So, when I got back to my office, I called Lacey and set up
a contact-session appointment for Wednesday.

Before one of my clients starts a contact
session, I like us to spend some time together in a place where the
deceased loved one lived or worked—ideally a room that contains
things that person used often. Being in the room sets the scene,
and telling me about the deceased person’s daily life helps the
living person remember and move into the space of the deceased.

I agreed to meet Lacey at their family home
where she and Angelica lived with Derrick. Judith was also living
there most of the time and I didn’t want to risk running into her,
so we set up our meeting for 1:30 Wednesday afternoon when she
would be teaching a seminar at the university.

Lacey was waiting for me on the front porch
when I drove up. She ran over to greet me as I got out of the car.
“I’m so excited,” she said, “I woke up this morning with a strong
feeling that Mom is waiting to hear from me. I can’t wait to get
started.”

Of course the process is more complicated
than she thought, but I didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm, so I
just said, “Great. Let’s go right in to your mom’s office.”

She led me through the front door into an
airy two-story entry hall, with a large living room off to the
left, a long hall heading off to double French doors at the rear of
the house, and a staircase at the right leading to the second
floor. The house had a cheerful feeling, enhanced by the hardwood
floors and buttery yellow walls that magnified the sunlight
streaming in from a skylight high above. “What a lovely house,” I
said.

“Mom and Dad designed it,” she said. “It was
their dream house. Too bad they weren’t happier living in it.”

“Maybe they were in the beginning,” I said.
“How long ago did they build the house?”

“About ten years ago,” she said. “It was
right about the time Angelica was born. Kari was five then, Shane
was thirteen and I was twelve. And you’re right—they were happy
then. At least they seemed happy. But what does a kid know about
how happy her parents are? Well, Angelica knows lots of stuff about
adults, but I never had her special abilities.”