by Amber Foxx
Sensing she shouldn’t interrupt the moment, Mae rose, took her crystals to the kitchen, opened a cabinet and found a bowl, then searched for a salt shaker, finding only a round paper box of salt. She dumped a little of its contents into the bowl and made a salt-water bath for the crystals. Then, since it seemed like the right thing to do after how they had started the experiment, she slipped her shoes back on and picked up the pot with the smudge sticks and the box of matches, and let herself out onto the fire escape.
Clouds shredded across a bruised half-moon as she lit a smudge and brushed the smoke over herself. The city still hummed with life, windows glowing and people walking and talking in spite of ice-emptied streets. Below her, a couple laughed as they skidded along a slick sidewalk and stopped to throw snowballs at each other. Mae watched the smoke fade with the sage and cedar embers. Her mind felt empty, her heart quiet. This wasn’t like her work at Healing Balance. She didn’t feel stained and dirty, she didn’t feel sad. In fact, she felt—clean. As if she had been the one to smile and cry.
The enormity of what had happened crept up slowly, with the scrabbling feet of the possum on the iron steps below. I think I healed her.
Chapter Twelve
The sofa bed had hard ridges up the middle, and it didn’t have Hubert in it. If the hour hadn’t been so late, Mae would have called him to hear his voice to help her sleep. Instead, she closed her eyes and imagined lying next to him, the warmth of his body, the sound of his breath. As much as they fought and didn’t understand each other, she still loved him and missed him.
It would be hard to be alone, like Bernadette. Maybe the healing would help her finally find someone, and open up and be loved. She’d seemed peaceful after it, when Mae had come in from the fire escape. Peaceful, but not ready to talk about it.
Healing. Was this what Mae’s Granma’s work had been like? She wished she could talk to her, wished Rhoda-Rae had let Mae learn while Granma was alive. But that was like wishing for green sky and pink trees.
With so much on her mind, and so much light from streetlights bleeding through the blinds, Mae found it hard to sleep. Finally she took the cover off the arm rest and draped it over her face, making darkness, and as she did so she heard the pouch with her crystals drop from the sofa arm into the bed. She slid it under her pillow. Might help her relax, for all she knew.
Beside her on the floor, she heard soft padding steps and a chirp. The Yellow Gentleman. She reached a hand down, not coming out of her newly darkened state, and found his extended paw and clasped it, whispering, “Come on up, cat.” He chirped again and sprang, walked around her, and then lay beside her, his weight warm against her hip. Not as good as Hubert for company, but he’d do.
Too bad this nice cat was a gift from Charlie. He seemed to do everything to get favors in return. What had he wanted from Bernadette?
Mae rested a hand on the Yellow Gentleman and drifted. Sleep, strangely, seemed to dive through the tunnel, and the dream, if it was a dream, revealed Charlie in this living room. His beard had less gray in it, and so did Bernadette’s hair. He closed the door behind him and set a cat carrier on the floor.
“I brought you something.”
“A cat?”
“He was living in one of the houses I sold. Left by some people I’d rented to. Can you imagine people like that? Look at him. He hadn’t been fed for three days. I came to do the inspection, and there he was.”
Bernadette crouched and looked.
“He’s pretty.” She lifted her eyes to Charlie. “Why don’t you want him?”
“I have cats. And you need one. You’ll get rats here. ”
“Hopefully not in my apartment.” Bernadette opened the carrier and let the cat out. He stood, stretched, then sat and seemed to study her. “The bugs are bad enough. But I guess you get rats and roaches in any city.”
“True.” Charlie’s voice sounded smug and arrogant. “But I don’t exactly live in that kind of neighborhood, you know.”
“I don’t know. You’ve still never had me to your house.”
Charlie sank into the rocking chair, rubbing his knee as he descended, saying as if Bernadette hadn’t spoken, “He’s a nice cat. He’ll be good for you.”
Bernadette sighed and sat on the sofa, tucking her heels up under her. The cat extended a paw and made his little inquiring noise. As Bernadette reached down to shake the cat’s paw, Charlie pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and opened it.
“I made five million dollars today.” There was a kind of venom behind his satisfaction. Taking a sheaf of bills out, he handed them to Bernadette with a slight grunt as he leaned forward. “Here’s enough for his vet bills and his—equipment. You know, whatever cats need.”
“Thanks.” Bernadette stroked the cat’s head cautiously. He jumped up beside her and purred, and she laid the money on the coffee table. “I’ll take good care of him.”
Charlie shifted to one side to put his wallet away, resettled himself, and rocked the chair. With one eyebrow raised, he said a long, stretched-out, “Well?”
“Okay. I have to ask. How’d you make five million?”
“I sold my slumlord past.” He rocked the chair a few more times, then stopped. “And I ripped off that bitch from hell for more than she’ll ever be worth.”
“Who?”
He stood up, strolled along the perimeter of the room, studying the art on the walls as if he’d never seen it before, picked up a delicate pot, turned it, set it back down, then ran his fingers over the lip of another.
“Charlie. Who’s the bitch from hell?”
“I was in business ...” He walked to the window and looked out. “Quite a few businesses, in fact. Asian and South American crafts, an art gallery, a wine import business ...”
“And slumlord?”
“And slumlord.” He pulled on the cord to lift the blinds. “When we split, I gave her all of the elegant, upscale businesses. Just handed them over to her and kept the dirty work. She liked it that way, thought she had come out ahead. Thought I was just washing my hands of her and letting her win.”
“I take it you knew she hadn’t.”
“Oh, in the short term she won. Those businesses were turning a profit. And they were her style. She never had to get her hands dirty, just hire good managers and lord it over them. She was good at that. I’m sure she still can pull in a nice hundred thousand a year or so from all that.” He laughed. “I win slowly, but don’t piss me off. I always win in the end.” The cold, deep satisfaction of a long-held grudge had a boastful and even threatening ring to it. “And I don’t forget.”
Bernadette seemed to duck reflexively and shrink into herself. Her voice became false, placating and full of praise. “Why do I think you knew your slum rentals would be worth millions?”
“I did know.” Charlie smiled. “I always knew it. The city can’t grow. It can only build inwards and upwards, not out. I just had to sit on that property until someone wanted to pay enough, and kick out my tenants when they did. It’s near the ocean. It couldn’t stay sailor-bars and tattoo parlors forever.”
Bernadette’s timidity receded partially and she unfolded her legs, sitting up straighter. “You evicted people?”
“I take it you don’t like that?”
“Not really. I grew up poor.”
“I didn’t throw them out on the street.” Charlie let the blinds drop and turned to face her. “Give me some credit. There was no furniture on the sidewalk or anything. I gave them a month’s notice. I had everyone on month to month leases since last January.”
She looked him over with doubt, and he laughed.
“I did not do anything evil.” He chuckled and sat beside her, put an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him, speaking in a warm and teasing voice. “You’re so good and serious.”
She jerked away slightly at the embrace, giving Charlie a wide-eyed and puzzled look.
“What?” he said. “Don’t you like it?” He gently rocked her aga
inst him and then stood, bringing her with him, and turned her to face to him. “Try me out. I’m better than you might think.” He drew her closer. The curve of his belly made her have to press in very close to receive his delicate, tentative kiss.
“I could like it.” She sounded uncertain.
He slid his hands along her body, exploring, caressing. Then he released her and began to unbutton her blouse. Neither resisting nor accepting, Bernadette stood still, looking down. “It’s cold, Charlie.”
“No—it’s wonderful. It’s alive.” He threw her shirt aside, ignoring her shivering. “It’s perfect.” Easing her to the floor, he bent over her and his mouth explored her half-naked body inch by inch, as if his desire would devour her skin. “I need this here. I need this now.”
Mae woke with a start, jerked out of the vision. This was like what she’d done in the green house in Cauwetska, where she’d almost seen who had slept in the bed. The sight had come up on her when she was too open to it.
She felt dirty, worse than she had after any of her sessions at Healing Balance. Folks there had asked her to butt into their lives. Bernadette had asked for healing, but not for this. Taking the cover off her eyes to see the streetlight fill the room again, Mae reached for the pouch of crystals under her pillow, took out a turquoise for protection and held it. It made her feel a little safer from seeing what was none of her business. At least she hadn’t seen Charlie take his pants off.
The thought almost made her laugh, but it would have been awful. Seeing Bernadette kiss up and give in to him had been bad enough. And she still did that kind of thing, rolling over for the alpha dog. Maybe she couldn’t help it, growing up abused, but it was hard to watch. Mae hoped that the healing would help Bernadette stand up for herself.
The Yellow Gentlemen snuggled closer, and Mae whispered to him. “Don’t go showing me any more of your life story, cat. You shouldn’t have even looked at them doing that.” But she knew it wasn’t really him. It was something that clung to him, to the room, the sofa bed, the floor. The apartment was filthy with memories.
Mae put the crystals away, placed the arm rest cover over her eyes again, and gradually relaxed into sleep, exhausted, in spite of the intrusive vision. But within what seemed only a few minutes, she felt the Yellow Gentleman jolt to his feet.
Something had entered in the room. Mae felt it move past her. The cat scrambled away and hid behind the sofa. Chilled, Mae sat up. The door to Bernadette’s room was closed, yet something, a low and canine shape, a shadow, seemed to pass through it.
From the bedroom came Bernadette’s voice. “No!” Then a long string of words in Apache, passionate and angry. Mae rose and knocked on the door.
“Are you all right?”
Getting no answer, she opened the door. Bernadette stood at the bear sculpture, both hands on it, her white nightgown catching the streetlight glow.
Mae asked again, “Are you all right?”
Silently, eyes closed, Bernadette nodded her head.
“Did something—”
“It’s over.” Bernadette rested her forehead against the top of the spirit bear’s back. “Go back to sleep.”
“Did it leave?”
“Yes.” Bernadette straightened up. “For now. Please. Go back to sleep.”
Awakened by the Yellow Gentleman’s friendly chirp, Mae sat up, at first unable to figure out where she was. The painting with the black and lightning-painted men over the sharp-peaked mountains was the first thing she saw, followed by the cat, waiting, paw lifted. When Mae reached to clasp the paw, the night came back to her.
She hadn’t slept soundly until the sun came up, uneasy in the dark, afraid that the wolf-shape might come back or that she might shift into the sight and not be able to stop before she saw too much again. Now, in the daylight, it all now seemed like something that couldn’t have happened, yet she knew it had.
Hoping the snow had melted and she could get out of this place, Mae rose and looked out the window. Water dripped steadily from the roof, and the streets and sidewalks shone wet and clear in bright sunlight. She called Hubert, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Bernadette, letting him know she would be on her way soon, as soon as she could get back to her car at CVU and stop by the running store—if he would give in and let her buy him a gift.
“I missed you last night,” he said.
She meant it from the heart as she answered, “I missed you more than you could know.”
“I guess you’re gonna buy me a present to prove it.”
She tried to dismiss the image of Charlie bringing Bernadette a gift. “I am.” When she got home, would she try to explain to Hubert what had happened here? He wouldn’t believe it, would think it was all a dream. She wished it had been. “And I hope I never spend the night without you again.”
When they ended the call, Mae put her phone with her bag and imagined getting back to the safety and good sense of Hubert and his parents. Their disbelief might be more comforting than aggravating now. It would be easy to keep her promise to them and stop the psychic work. Bernadette believed in all this energy and healing, and look what came into her home at night. Look at what happened to Mae for sleeping there.
Before the dream and the wolf shadow, Mae had been ready to break that promise after all, turn a corner into a spiritual world, and think about being a healer. But if she opened a gateway to some other world, it didn’t seem like she could decide how far she went through or what came into her world from the other side.
Bernadette’s bedroom door was not quite closed, to allow the cat to slip in and out. Mae took her dollar store bag with her clean underwear and socks and toothbrush, and opened the door slowly so as not to make a sound. Bernadette lay curled up in a fetal position, apparently sound asleep under a star-pattern quilt. The clock on her bedside table read nine a.m., late for country people, but less than eight hours sleep with all the strangeness in the night.
In the shower, Mae rehearsed the questions she wanted to ask Bernadette—not that Bernadette would answer questions she didn’t want to. Still, had Bernadette seen a wolf, too? What had it done? Did she know Charlie had a wolf in him? Mae had seen it that once in his office. Was it the same thing that came in at night? Had Bernadette lied about not having a relationship with him? Or had it ended when he became department chairman?
Wrapped up in these thoughts, Mae was startled to hear voices in Bernadette’s bedroom as she turned off the water. Her first thought was that Bernadette had to be on the phone or have the radio on, but even over the hum of the bathroom fan, Mae quickly recognized Charlie’s rich baritone. That voice was one of a kind. In Bernadette’s bedroom first thing in the morning.
Looked like one of the questions had been answered.
As she turned off the fan, Mae could make out words. She dressed quickly, wanting to get past this awkward situation.
Charlie was saying “You’re sure you two aren’t—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She slept in the living room. Most people don’t have multiple relationships.”
“What are you implying?”
Mae had no choice but to step into the middle of their argument. Bernadette, clad in a gray satin bathrobe, her hair still disarrayed from sleep, stood between the bed and the door to the living room and kitchen. Charlie rose abruptly as Mae opened the bathroom door, as if he didn’t want to be seen sitting on Bernadette’s bed.
“Don’t let me interrupt you,” Mae said. “Charlie, you were saying I might be cheating on my husband, with a woman, no less?”
His face darkened, but he forced a tight smile. “Don’t tell me you think women shouldn’t ...?”
He was faking a throw to first. It had nothing to do with the hitter at bat, and she knew it. “I think saying stuff like that because I got stuck here in a storm is dirty-minded. Excuse me. I gotta get ready to go home.”
Mae walked through the bedroom and Bernadette came with her, going to the kitchen while Mae went to the living room. Cha
rlie strolled after them and stood in the little space that formed the apartment’s equivalent of a hallway, where the angled kitchen doorway, the bedroom door, and the living room closet door almost squared with the entrance to the living room.
“Icy roads last night, eh?” Charlie said, rocking on his heels, hands in his pockets. He wore khaki pants and a soft wool sweater of a pale blue that matched his eyes. It looked expensive, and Mae thought of the five million dollars announcement she had seen the night before.
“Lots of accidents around the tunnels and bridges, too,” Bernadette said, filling a coffee maker with water and scooping beans into a grinder.
“I should think Mae would know how to drive in snow. Don’t you get snow in the mountains?”
Mae finished packing her few belongings into her gym bag, atop the dress she had worn yesterday, seemingly a year ago, as Breda at the Healing Balance Store. “If I’d learned to drive when I was twelve.” She zipped the bag and set it near the door. “Bernadette, is that running store up near the movie place open on Sundays?”
“I think so. The phone book is in my top desk drawer—you can call them. The store’s called Running Life.”
While Bernadette made coffee, Mae went to the desk and got out the phone book, looked up the number, and called the store on her cell phone. Charlie circled the living room. Like an animal marking territory, like Ronnie’s tomcats going under Mae’s house, Charlie seemed to be marking off Bernadette’s apartment by touching things as he paced off the space.
“Buying running gear?” he said, pausing in the front of the painting of the lightning men, not looking at Mae.
Mae let her conversation with the salesperson suffice for an answer, not paying overt attention to Charlie. “My husband wants some of those barefoot shoes.”
The clerk told her to get her husband’s exact foot measurement before she came, in order to get the right size. She thanked him, hung up, and called Hubert. Charlie wandered away into the kitchen, and Mae felt relieved to have him farther off. While she waited for Hubert to find a measuring tape and measure his foot, she took the sheets off the sofa bed and folded it back up. From that angle, she could see into the kitchen.