“Ross struck a powerful chord in you today, didn’t he?” Her mentor remained seated, aglow with love…and something else. “You’re on the verge of a very important leap, Angela, on the edge of a monumental occurrence. Take this opportunity to embrace the power of now, the present moment, before moving on.”
“Ross said the same thing. But he’s so successful, Lenore! And look at me! I’m broke and homeless and alone—”
“You’ve undergone great changes in a very short time, dear child. Devastating enough to be attacked by the man who was once your husband,” the seer said in a faraway voice. “But this major relationship shift came at the same time your financial situation changed.”
“Yeah, losing my job and discovering a closed bank account—that could be called a financial change,” Angie muttered. “And all this stuff happened within an hour.”
“Anyone would be reeling from so much upheaval.” Lenore stood and gently took her hand. “You need some deep healing, and you’ve come to the right place, Angela. Rather than wallow in what was, or let those past events determine your future, you can change things. You can create your new reality.”
Angie’s breath seeped out. Her shoulders relaxed, as though this woman could work such miracles. “You’re right, no doubt. But for now I’m going to play Scarlett and think about all this stuff tomorrow.”
With a beatific smile, Lenore hugged her. “With divine help—in league with your angels and guides—we’ll reframe your future, Angela. We’ll change your perspective, and that in turn changes everything.”
Pleasantly tired, Angie lingered in Lenore’s embrace. It had been so long since anyone held her this way, so long since her mother had settled her fears so profoundly. “Good night, Lenore. And thanks. From the bottom of my heart, thanks.”
Angie passed quickly through the parlor to climb the lovely old wooden stairs, smiling at the floral carpet runner so much like her grandma’s. The little lamp was lit in the Rainbow Room, and her bed was turned down. The note on her pillow said, Hope you had a fabulous day, Angie! Elena. Her clothing puddled on the floor, and then she savored the softness of the old cotton nightie drifting down her body. Nothing had ever felt so cool, so comforting, as the fresh sheets on her bed. She smiled in the darkness.
What a day! How far she’d come from the despair she’d known only yesterday! Maybe there was something to what Ross and Lenore had said about the power they derived from the sea, that eternal pulse outside her window, whispering its lullaby, promising like a mother to be her mainstay, her source, her haven. In her mind, Ross kissed her softly and sweetly as she drifted toward sleep.
A loud pounding at her door made Angie cry out. Before her feet found the floor, someone barged into her room. The air around her throbbed with hostility.
“I know damn well what you were doing in that junky little bungalow and in Ross’s office after the show,” the intruder accused. “He’s only using you to piss me off! Just like he bedded Elena Velez, because he can’t keep it in his pants! And it belongs to me!”
Ten
ANGIE switched on the lamp. Every nerve in her body prickled as she gaped at the slender woman standing before her—or rather over her, nailing her to the bed with a nasty scowl. Up close and agitated, Rita McQueen looked older and much more formidable than she had inside her shop.
But you know more about her than she knows about you. Knowledge is power.
For once, Angie was glad that inner voice was coaching her. Rita had obviously slithered into the lodge while she and Lenore were talking, waiting to pounce on her. Maybe the glowering redhead had overheard their conversation. Maybe she’d even been in this room until she heard Angie coming! Her silvery green eyes appeared very feline. Very sneaky. Rita did tarot readings, so she might be as attuned to auras and vibrations as Lenore. And if she’d listened to Ross’s show, Rita knew she was a newbie at this ancient New Age stuff.
Never mind that. Play it as it lies. And assume Rita lies, too.
Angie slipped into the cloak of composure she’d worn while dealing with hospice patients. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she murmured, extending her hand. “I’m Angie Cava-naugh.”
“You know damn well who I am!” the woman shrieked, slapping her hand. “Ross hurried you away from my shop—and for good reason! He’s sneaking around on me again, flaunting you around town and on his show to piss me off, even though he’ll deny it. Oh, he’s a piece of work, that man is!”
Pot’s calling the kettle black. If she yells long enough, Lenore might come upstairs.
Nah. Lenore would consider this one of those lessons Angie had to learn about turning a challenge into an opportunity, about unpacking Ross’s baggage while gaining insight on her own. So Angie used another technique for dealing with people who’d reached the end of their emotional rope: she kept her mouth shut. Focused on Rita McQueen and let the silence do its work.
Rita glared, so agitated that she shook. She’d have been as glamorous as a soap-opera star, except her anger deepened the lines between her eyebrows. She was blinking, and swallowing, and sniffling, and shifting—a human volcano ready to erupt. Her shoulder-length hair, probably her greatest asset twenty years ago, made her appear dated and desperate. The deep vee of her black tank top revealed cleavage creased with tiny wrinkles.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” the woman spouted. “I’m telling you to leave my man alone!”
“All right.”
“Don’t patronize me! You think you’re so smart, think you’re on the A-list now that you phoned in to Ross’s show and got that numerological crap he smears on every woman who calls him.” Rita sucked in air, clenching her fists. “Well, you’re not getting away with anything. Elena fell for his sweet talk, too, but she soon learned that while Ross talks a good story, he’ll always belong to me. Got it?”
Angie sat absolutely still. Oh, she longed to take the bait, to give this woman an earful. But she’d fueled Gregg’s temper that way, hadn’t she? And some of the traits she saw working in Rita McQueen felt very familiar indeed.
“Answer me, damn it!”
Angie swallowed. Prayed for the fewest, best words. “Got it.”
Rita’s jaw dropped. “Lying, thieving bitch!” she spat. “Consider yourself warned, because I refuse to tolerate this. You’ll never be good enough for him, so give it up.”
Somehow Angie maintained eye contact and remained half-reclining on the bed, though she wanted to spring forward and fight. With an exasperated gasp, Ross’s lover stalked out of the room. The slam of the door rattled the lamp on the nightstand.
Angie’s breath whooshed out of her, and then she collapsed.
Lenore would probably advise her to forgive and forget, to let go of any resentment or hostility she’d absorbed during this brief encounter. She rarely got angry: she was a peace seeker, as Ross had said. But she also refused to become Rita McQueen’s victim. And she refused to get caught in the crossfire of that love/hate relationship Ross had described and Lenore had confirmed.
Angie grabbed her cell phone. Thumbed the number she recalled from the Costello Realty sign: all fives, for conflict. Lenore would call it divine timing, and as Ross’s number rang Angie sensed timing might be the key to everything. It was time to hear the truth. Time to put Ross to the flame and see if he sizzled.
“Is that really you, Angie?” he asked in that oh-so-mellow voice. “Honest to God, I was sitting here, wanting to talk to you and—”
“So talk about this!” Could everyone in the inn hear her through the walls? She squished a pillow around her head and continued in a low but pointed voice. “Your dear friend Rita McQueen just barged into my room while I was in bed. After she scared the living shit out of me, she proceeded to inform me that you were hers, and that—”
“Oh, Jesus, that woman…I’ll be right over, sweetheart.”
“Don’t bother. I’ve had enough for one night.”
“She’s been stoking herself up ever sinc
e we passed her shop, so—”
“If you ever plan to see me again you’d better give me one straight answer. Got it?” She tossed off the covers, warming to this fight. All day she’d dealt with Ross’s otherworldly commentary, so by God he could create a more down-to-earth truth now.
“What sort of lies did she tell you? Honey, if—”
“I’m asking the questions here. And don’t call me your honey, since you’ve apparently dipped into everyone else’s, as well. Namely, Elena.”
His silence said she’d struck a nerve, a situation he couldn’t wiggle out of. “Angie, you deserve to hear about this face-to-face. I’m leaving right now—”
“If you’re feeding me lines about being your teacher and your destiny but are still with Rita—”
“Only in her dreams,” he snapped bitterly. “And while I probably said some things that sounded totally outlandish to you, I meant every word, Angie. I don’t love her anymore. Never did, really. Rita can’t believe that.”
A car started. Angie tried to catch her breath but her heart was still hammering from the scare Rita’s invasion gave her. “Easy for you to say! You didn’t see the look on her face as she leaned over me in bed.”
“Oh, jeez, baby, I’m sorry. Sounds like she’s off her meds—” Ross cussed softly above the road noise; tires squealed and he sucked in his breath. “Close one,” he rasped.
“Was she?” Angie quipped. She almost hung up on him, as she should have done with Gregg more than once. But she wanted answers.
“That’s not fair and you know it. I’ll be there in two seconds, Angie.”
“Elena has implied—with her body language and words—that you’ve been with her, too. My God, Ross! Maybe Rita was right, about how you can’t keep it in your pants.”
“Angie!” His brakes squealed and then he slammed his car door. “Damn it, the lodge is locked up for the night. I’ll have to come up the—”
“I should’ve known not to believe that crap about our destinies intersecting. Just forget it, Ross. Take your charts and your destiny and stuff them up your—”
“—back way. Hang on!”
She heard muffled grunts, as though he’d stuck his phone in his pocket. Then he drew in some night air, exhaled into the phone, and Angie swore she felt the warmth of his breath as he chuckled.
“Why are you holding a pillow over your head, sweetheart? Even if you could suffocate yourself, Rita is so not worth it!”
Angie jumped. She caught a movement on her balcony, which meant Ross had shinnied up the post to her room. He raked his hair with his hand, gazing in at her. “What are you gawking at?” she blurted. “I told you not to come—”
“I refuse to let Rita talk for me,” he replied. He sounded emphatic but calmer now. As determined to have his say as she was dead set against believing him. “But I won’t barge in the way she did. Will you please open your door, Angie?”
The pillow fell to the bed as she looked at Ross’s silhouette in the moonlight. Deep down, she was pleased he’d shown up, but if she let him into her room, once she allowed him over that threshold…A shiver went up her spine, and it wasn’t because she felt cold.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Why not?” he whispered back.
Damn it, this was not going the way she’d intended! Ross was on her balcony, sincerely upset that Rita McQueen had threatened her. He wasn’t smarting off or making excuses. He was just here, as much to comfort her as to defend his own honor.
There’s a new one. When did Gregg ever seem worried about how you felt? Or about how one of his girlfriends had treated you?
“Oh, just stay out of this!” she rasped.
Ross stared through the glass. “Excuse me?”
Angie groaned. “I’m sorry, I was talking to…oh, never mind! You can see I’m only wearing a nightie Lenore loaned me—”
“And you look very angelic yet sexy in it.”
Shit. This was not in her script. “Ross, please understand how…how threatened I feel, because every woman I’ve met since I came here acts like she’s been your lover. Yet you’re telling me we’re destined to be together, and that I came to be your teacher, and…well, what am I supposed to believe? Whom should I believe?”
When he exhaled into her phone, he might as well have been kissing her senseless. “All right. So, a while back, Rita got so possessive, swinging back and forth with her bipolar moods and refusing to get help, that out of sheer desperation—or the need to strike back, I guess—I went out with Elena,” he confessed. “She was still getting over her abusive ex-boyfriend, so we sympathized with each other over a few too many drinks and I—I took her home with me. I’m not proud of it, but I swear it’s never happened again, Angie.”
It wasn’t hard to understand why a sane man would recoil from Rita and then respond to pretty, playful Elena in that way. Wasn’t hard to understand why Ross and Elena had commiserated with each other under such circumstances, either. Angie had closed her eyes to really hear between the lines, and he was concocting no elaborate excuses. He was just telling her straight-out what had happened.
“So, yeah,” he continued, “I have a very healthy libido and I respond to pretty women. But I am not a sex maniac. Rita exaggerates sometimes.” Ross stood with his shoulder against the doorframe, talking quietly, rationally, looking right at her.
Should she trust him? She could quiz Elena about the story Ross had just told her, and yet, what would that prove? Angie met Ross’s gaze in the dim light, and her heart believed him. Why had she ever listened to that vengeful redhead, anyway?
“I’m sorry Rita ambushed you, sweetheart,” Ross said. “I promise you I’m breaking it off with her, for good this time. It’s time for her to be responsible for her moods…time for me to insist it’s over so we can both move on.” He sighed, gazing through the glass as he continued. “I’ve done a more complete workup of your numbers, and it was like every finger in the universe was pointing at me, saying, ‘See, Costello? Here’s the woman you’ve been waiting for, so don’t blow it!’”
Angie laughed softly, in spite of wanting to maintain her hard-nosed attitude. “I guess this divination stuff and your extrasensory abilities intimidate me. I feel like I’ve landed in a movie where all the other characters are superheroes, so I’m at a distinct disadvantage.”
“And I’m glad you’ve reminded me about that. If I proceed more slowly with you, if I inform Rita it’s over—I’ll tell her doctors she might need more medical attention, too,” he added in a concerned voice, “will you give me another chance to make good, sweetheart? Pretty please?”
Her heart rose into her throat as he placed his palm flat on the door glass, entreating her to believe him. To forgive him. The sea murmured in the distance, and the wind chimes on the balcony caught a breeze. The inn was otherwise quiet, as though she and Ross were the only two people on the face of the earth.
And if you were the last woman alive, could choose any man you wanted, it would be Ross, right? Say yes, Angie.
“All right,” she whispered. “Yes.”
Ross’s sigh of relief reverberated in her phone. Through the window glass, she saw his chest rise and fall, and he said, “Will you understand if I take a day or so to convince Rita she’s history? If I were to come see you tomorrow, and she followed me, or came at you again—”
“It wouldn’t be pretty,” Angie finished. “And maybe a little space is what we both need, considering all you’ve given me to think about.”
“You’re not the only one who’s reeling, babe. I feel like a portal has opened and sunlight—a whole new life—is shining down on me!” he exclaimed. “Thank you so much for that. I owe you big-time.”
Her hand fluttered to her throat. She couldn’t recall anyone ever saying such a wonderful thing to her. “You saved my life, remember? And today, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss anything because I’d…ended it all.” Angie blinked rapidly, suddenly awash in emotions. “Good night, Ro
ss. I’m sorry I let Rita upset me. Thanks for coming.”
“Glad I did. I’ll call you, okay?” He waved from the other side of the glass. Then he pressed his lips to it and left a big kiss print.
After she was sure Ross had gone, Angie stood slowly, drawn to the print, which caught the moonlight in lush relief. Like a moth to the flame, the voice teased, but she didn’t care. When she stood at this angle, the O of his inner lips formed a tiny spyglass, through which the moon was framed so perfectly it stole her breath away.
Oh, you’re in over your head now, girl! Seeing every little thing as a sign. Be careful with that stuff!
Angie opened the sliding glass door to step outside. The night air chilled her, but wasn’t that what her overheated imagination needed? In less than an hour she’d moved from Lenore’s calm presence to being threatened by Rita, and then Ross had come to make things right and had confessed a sensual past. And she’d forgiven him. Believed in him again. Was that a mistake?
She recaptured these past moments in her mind, reviewing not just what Ross had said but how he’d behaved, how he’d apologized and revealed Rita’s bipolar nature without anger or accusations. He even planned to alert Rita’s doctors before he cut her loose. Did that imply that he was connected to her and would never be completely free? Or did it show his compassion for a troubled woman who clung like metal filings to his magnetic personality?
What makes you think Rita will give him up? What if the numbers of her name spell out an eternity of confrontation and confusion that will never be reconciled, even if you are to be his destiny?
That was the sticking point, wasn’t it? She had doubts about the breakup, even without being able to see or know things the way Ross and Lenore did. Angie sighed tiredly. Her head was spinning with so many implications she felt downright dizzy.
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