Under the Skin (19 page)

Thursday night, May 24

G
loria looked around the room at her fellow Seekers. They had gathered in the parlor of the inn, for what Giles had called an informal chat. “Get to know one another a bit—that sort of thing.” Giles Mellish—she really couldn’t think of him as Giles of Glastonbury anymore—was seated in a wing chair with a cup of coffee, silently observing as the various participants—nine in all—milled about the room, helping themselves to coffee and cookies from a side table and chatting quietly as they took their seats.

Gloria glanced at her sister. Elizabeth was sitting next to her, wedged into the corner of the long sofa, apparently engrossed in studying the fancy medallion on the ceiling. She had, Gloria thought, the look of someone pretending she wasn’t there.

“Is that place taken?”

A pleasant-faced woman with white hair and shining blue eyes was pointing to the empty space between Gloria and the large henna-haired woman of indefinite age who had staked out the farther corner and was whispering to the woman in the chair beside the sofa.

Gloria smiled and inched a little closer to Elizabeth. “It’s all yours—there’s plenty of room.”

Carefully balancing her cup of coffee, the woman
lowered herself to the sofa and turned to Gloria. “I’m Sandy Secrest—I just got here. My friends and I drove from Wisconsin. We’re staying at the campground and they wanted to get the RV hooked up before dark. Have I missed anything important?”

Repressing a shudder at the thought of campgrounds and RVs, Gloria nudged Elizabeth to bring her attention back from the ceiling.

“No, you haven’t missed a thing. This is the introductory meeting. Giles said we’d get started in a few—”

“I believe we’ll begin now.”

Giles Mellish, still wearing the same nondescript clothing he’d traveled in, was on his feet. The several conversations that had been in full swing ceased and the parlor fell silent. Across the hall, where the dining room was being set for tomorrow’s breakfast, the rattle of cutlery and soft clink of dishes was suddenly audible.

Two youngish women who’d been standing by the table with the coffee and cookies hastily seated themselves and every face turned toward the psychic. He lifted his hands in a gesture that reminded Gloria of a priest greeting the congregation and looked around the room, gathering in the participants one by one.

“Well come. You are all
well come
to this time and this place.”

For just a moment, Gloria thought, he seemed taller. Dropping his hands, he resumed his seat and the momentary awe she had felt was replaced with a simple
liking
for this most unassuming of men.

“What I’d like to do tonight,” he began, his voice pitched low so that all of them leaned forward to catch his words, “is to go around the room and give each of you Seekers the opportunity to introduce yourself. You might tell us a little bit about your reasons for coming here; maybe what you hope to gain from this weekend. The investigations we plan to undertake require the
united energies of the group—the more united we are, the more successful the weekend will be. Tomorrow morning at nine, we’ll be doing some trust-building exercises before we begin our explorations. But tonight we just need to get to know and feel comfortable with each other.”

The henna-haired woman was waving her hand. “Do we tell about who we’re hoping to contact?”

“Not this evening. We just want to hear a little about you—Christian name, where you come from, and a bit more. I’ll begin, shall I?”

He took a sip of his coffee and went on. “Good evening, I’m Giles and I’m your, shall we say,
guide
for this weekend of discovery. I’m from England and when I’m not traveling to workshops, I live in Glastonbury, which as I expect some of you know is a rather magical place. But as I drove here from the airport, winding deeper and deeper into these most ancient of mountains, it became increasingly obvious that this too is a place of old magic—perfect for our journeying.”

Giles fell silent and looked toward the man on his right. Gloria had particularly noticed the deeply tanned, wiry man in hiking shorts earlier—hard not to when he had brusquely declined coffee and cookies. “White sugar is poison to me, and caffeine is an addictive drug. I’m very particular about what I put in
my
body!”

Upon which he had waved aside an offered chair and, moving to Giles’s right-hand side, had crossed his sinewy legs and sunk effortlessly to the Oriental carpet, there to assume a full lotus position. He had not responded to friendly overtures from the others as they moved about in search of seats but had closed his eyes in apparent meditation. Now, obedient to Giles’s glance, he spoke.

“I’m Xan—that’s X-A-N. I moved to Asheville from Sedona about five years ago. My main interests are a
healthy lifestyle and sacred geometry. This weekend I hope to gain deeper understanding of some past influences on my life …”

He looked up at Giles. “Is that enough?”

Giles reached out and patted the waiting Xan on the shoulder. Almost, thought Gloria, as if he were saying
Good dog
. But rather than speak, the medium looked at the next participant and nodded.

“Me?” The shy-looking woman perched on the edge of one of the Windsor chairs, borrowed from the dining room for extra seating, started when Giles’s gaze fell on her. “Oh, I see, we’re going around the room. This way. Widdershins.”

She moved one hand in a counterclockwise circle, let out a nervous giggle, and clasped her hands together. “Okay, seriously now. I’m Ree … from Raleigh. I work in a bank but I’m very interested in the paranormal and … and all kinds of psychical stuff. My friends got together and gave me this weekend as a gift for my fortieth birthday. And I …” She paused, evidently at a loss, then brightened and concluded with a triumphant smile, “I hope to broaden my horizons this weekend.”

The introductions continued. The henna-haired Charlene was a student of tarot seeking to broaden
her
horizons as well. Originally from Pittsburgh, Charlene was now living with her husband and her four shih tzus in Fairview, a community near Asheville. Sandy from Wisconsin proved to be a recently retired librarian and a mystery buff, looking for a different sort of vacation.

Now Giles was looking at
her
and Gloria found herself unexpectedly tongue-tied. The mild gaze held her and she took a deep breath.

“I’m Gloria from …” Suddenly she didn’t want to say Tampa, and settled for a lame “… from Florida. I’m looking for … I’m looking for answers.”

A brief smile flickered across Giles’s face then his attention turned to Elizabeth.

Gloria tensed, hoping Lizzy wouldn’t do one of her typical sarcastic speeches. It would be so embarrassing if—but no, Lizzy was saying, in soft and rather un-Lizzy-like tones, “I’m Elizabeth and I live here in Marshall County, over near Ransom. I came for the weekend to be with my sister … but I wouldn’t mind some answers myself.”

After Elizabeth came Dawn and Steve—owners of a bed-and-breakfast in southern Alabama, here on a sort of working holiday.

“Dawn’s into this New Age shit, excuse my French.” Steve gave her partner’s leg a gentle slap. “And I thought it might be something we could run at our place.” She shot an appraising look at Giles. “No offense meant, Mr. uh …”

“None taken, I’m sure.” Giles’s eyes twinkled but his face remained serious. “I’ll try to make the weekend worth your while.”

The last of the circle was Len, a sixtyish man with thinning gray hair pulled back in a wispy ponytail. A tie-dyed T-shirt with the dancing skeletons of the Grateful Dead logo was stretched across a substantial paunch. He too wore shorts. Inwardly, Gloria had summed him up as yet another of the aging hippies who seemed to infest the area. Her jaw dropped slightly as Len described himself as an executive with Microsoft—on a sabbatical and hoping to satisfy a long-held interest in spirit communication done via computer. He was just launching into a story of some strange cybercommunication that he’d had with the late Jerry Garcia when there was the sound of a bell, the hurried steps of the innkeeper in the hallway, the door opening and more footsteps.

All eyes were on the arched doorway as a slim figure in baggy jeans and outsized shirt burst through and
stood, looking from one to the other of the circle. His—or was it her?—head was bandaged with just a few strands of dark hair showing at the back. The strangely androgynous face bore a puzzled frown which dissolved into an angelic smile as Giles stood and beckoned.

“Master,” the newcomer panted, leaning against the elaborate woodwork of the doorframe. “Master Giles, I’m here. I’m Joss.”

“An interesting assortment of people in this … workshop.”

Gloria watched as Elizabeth studied the lavish bowl of fruit that sat on the small table between the two chairs.
Here come the snarky comments
, she thought. But Elizabeth just yawned and muttered, “Do I dare to eat a peach?” as her hovering hand came down and selected a plump specimen.

“I don’t see why not, Lizzy. They’re all organic and perfectly ripe. I have to have my fruit before bedtime and I specified—”

Elizabeth grinned and waved off the assurances as she took a bite. “It’s delicious, Glory—a nice idea for a little something before bed. If I can just keep from getting juice all down my front …”

Gloria stepped into her bathroom and returned with a terry hand towel. “Use this, for goodness’ sake.” She studied the assortment and, choosing a plum and a small cluster of green grapes, settled in the other chair.

“It seemed to me,” she began, “that the men were much stranger than the women—that hippie type—what was his name?”

“Len? The guy with Jerry Garcia in his computer?” Elizabeth reached for a plum. “He seems nice enough but computer people are another breed altogether. And what’s his name, Xan with an X—Mr. Fruits and Nuts—
I bet he’d like to come along for a fruity organic nosh—you should have invited him up, Glory.”

Glory recognized the wicked grin as a bit of sisterly teasing and relaxed a very little bit. If they could just get comfortable with each other, without the constant sparring … The secret she’d kept all these years was going to have to come out this weekend and she owed it to Lizzy to tell her first—before sharing it with a roomful of strangers.

“… and speaking of strange, what about the male-to-female ratio? Three men—well, four, counting Giles—to seven women? Are women just more interested in this … stuff? Or are they more adventurous? Or do they just have more free time?” Elizabeth slipped off her sandals and wiggled her toes.

“
Four
men?” Gloria frowned at her sister. “Giles and Len and Xan: That makes
three
. That Steve person isn’t a—”

“Glory, I know that—but that crazy-looking one who showed up late is. Joss is a guy. You wanna bet?”

It was just what she had hoped for, Gloria thought. They had moved from the elegant but not particularly comfortable chairs to the big walnut bed and were propped up with the pillows against the headboard, chattering and gossiping like a couple of teenagers.
Maybe if there hadn’t been the age difference. Three years seems like nothing now but back then … and Lizzy started school early and Mama kept me back that year I had rheumatic fever … We were hardly ever at the same school at the same time. And she had her friends and I …

Still there were some happy shared memories: the family trips to the beach … Lizzy was chuckling over the recollection now.

“Do you remember the time we saw a sign for a
restaurant that had boiled shrimp? It said ‘Peel ’em and eat ’em’ and for some reason we both thought that was the funniest thing in the world. We bounced up and down shouting ‘Peel ’em and eat ’em! Peel ’em and eat ’em!’ over and over till Mama reached around and smacked me.”

“I remember that! Do you remember the sign on a motel … the ‘Welcome Inn’—”

Elizabeth threw her head back, choking with laughter. “And we said ‘Well, come in!’ all the rest of the way to the beach. Lord, no wonder the first thing Mama did when we got there was to fix herself a stiff drink …”

The mood shifted abruptly as both remembered the almost invariable sequel to Mama’s stiff drink in the afternoon. From the corner of her eye, Gloria could see that Elizabeth’s face had gone solemn. Gloria reached out and squeezed her sister’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Sissy,” she whispered. “You always got the worst of her temper. I wish …”

Elizabeth returned the pressure and managed a small smile. “It’s in the past, Glory. It took a long time but I think that Mama and I finally understood each other a little better in the last years of her life. And when … when Sam died, it really came home to me how Papa’s going away must have changed everything for her. Even though he fixed it so there was plenty of money, she really didn’t deal with being alone very well. And because I took after Papa … I guess I was a constant reminder of the man who’d abandoned her.”

Papa
. The mystery man. Mama wouldn’t talk about what happened but her bitterness had been a daily companion, an unseen member of their little family.

“Lizzy, in all these years, have you ever heard from him? Mama never ever mentioned him and I didn’t like to ask …”

Elizabeth’s grip tightened and she slowly shook her
head. “Never the first word. For all I know, he may be dead.” After a long moment she asked, “Do you remember him at all? You were only four when he left.”

“I think I must—there weren’t any pictures of him but I think I remember a big man with blue, blue eyes and dark hair. He rode me on his shoulders. But that’s all. You must have a lot more memories of him.”

“I do.” Elizabeth’s voice was hoarse. “He … he was … my hero. I thought he could do anything. And then … one day he was gone.”

There was another long silence as the two women sat side by side on the big bed, holding hands and staring into the past.

Finally, gathering her courage, Gloria began, “Lizzy, I need to tell you about when I married Arturo …”