by Amber Foxx
Charlie glared at her until she took the offered gift, then closed his eyes and seemed relieved. His face softened. “Use them wisely. Better than I did. Now let me rest. Apparently I have to let my doctor heal me.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
May 2010, Norfolk International airport
The airport’s upstairs lobby echoed with travelers’ voices and recorded reminders. Mae watched the hallways leading in from the gates. She had tried reading, but she was too restless. She put the book in her purse and stood and paced around the central seating area near the coffee kiosk. Fourteen years and she would finally see Daddy.
She glanced at her watch. Still twenty minutes. Would their meeting be as good as their phone calls, letters, and e-mails? What was he really like now?
So many losses in her life this year. Her father’s arrival, even if only for a short visit, was exactly what Mae needed. Finally getting someone back.
She’d lost Bernadette just the day before. It was a hard parting. Mae and Randi—who were now roommates, sharing Randi’s condo after Rick had moved out—helped Bernadette load her tiny rental trailer and saw her off. Looking radiant, dressed western-style in jeans and a white shirt and wearing her Indian jewelry, Bernadette promised she’d get in touch whenever she was sure Charlie was truly un-witched, probably in a few months. Mae pictured her moving back home to New Mexico. If this visit with Marty went well, she might meet her again out there.
When Mae saw his flight number announced on the information screen, she walked towards the gate where he’d landed, as far as non-passengers could go.
Time stood still, then swung backwards. To the last memory of losing him. She was thirteen, coming home to an empty house after a friend’s mother had dropped her off. No car or truck sat in the driveway. As Mae opened the living room door, she noticed Marty’s trophies were missing from the living room. Panicked, she rushed into her parents’ bedroom. His closet stood open, empty.
Rhoda-Rae’s was full. Her first thought had been that it should be the other way around. No, not Daddy. Why?
She ran to her room to look for a note or a letter from him, but there was nothing. And her bat and glove were gone. No. How could he? How could he take them back? Daddy wasn’t like this. She tore through her room looking for the note that was never there, through his empty closet and drawers, but there wasn’t a trace. The world had turned into a gaping crater into which she kept falling. Giving up only after her desperate search found nothing, Mae closed herself in her room and cried.
Fourteen years, and that hurt was finally healing.
Down the airport hallway, in the stream of arriving passengers, some slow, some fast, some staring ahead, some talking on phones, she saw him. Tall, lean, more tanned than he used to be, his brown hair streaked gray, his face beaming with that same warm, open smile now making lines around his eyes. He’d aged in the New Mexico sun, but in a way he hadn’t much changed. She knew his walk, that loping stride that looked relaxed even in a hurry. The old leather carry-on bag in his hand swung along with him, as if carrying a heavy object were as easy as being empty-handed.
He broke out of the crowd, picking up his pace, and Mae ran to him, threw her arms around him as he dropped his bag to meet her embrace. It was strange to be almost as tall as him, to hug him as a grown woman. And wonderful. The relief, the end of the pain, broke through in tears.
“Daddy.”
“Baby girl.” He stepped back, looked at her and laughed at himself. “I have to stop calling you that.” His eyes were wet, too, and he rubbed the tears off his cheeks without looking away from her, unembarrassed. “God, it’s good to see you. I don’t think I’ve been this happy in my life since the day you were born.”
“Best I’ve felt in a long time, too.”
“Let’s get outside. I need some fresh air and sunlight, need to move.”
“Is that all your luggage?”
“It is. All I needed.”
They jogged down the central stairway and crossed the lower-level lobby to step out under a white-blue sky that sat on them with the humid weight of summer.
“Whoa,” Marty said. “I forgot what this part of the world feels like. It’s like a big dog is breathing on you.”
“You like New Mexico better?”
“I do. And not just the air. It’s home now. I fit in better, I think. ’Cause you don’t have to fit in to fit in, if you know what I mean.” They walked to her car, and Mae opened the trunk. Marty put his suitcase inside. “Nice little car. Get good mileage?”
What a fatherly sort of question. “Yeah. It’s great.”
“So you could drive out for a good long visit. Take a look at the college, see what you think.”
Mae unlocked the car doors. She wasn’t ready to say if she wanted to come out yet, though a part of her felt like plunging in with an eager yes. “We can go to the Botanical Garden, if you like. It’s real close. You said you need to be out and move around.”
“Sounds good,” Marty said. “I go a little crazy being indoors too long. Don’t know how people do most jobs. You sit, and you sit some more.”
They got in, and Mae drove, paying close attention to the unfamiliar pattern of exits. It was the first time she’d ever picked anyone up at an airport. Marty paid the parking fee, and then adjusted his seat to give himself leg room.
“I got us tickets to the Tides game tonight,” Mae said.
“Thanks, baby. That’ll be fun.”
An awkward silence fell. So much to say and yet they were strangers as well as family. Marty finally asked, “You sure you’re all right with me, Mae?”
“Daddy. I really am. Completely.”
“I don’t just mean being gay. I mean, being gone.”
“It’s Mama, not you. I know what she did. I get it. She’s done things to me, too. Lied and made trouble.”
“I’m sorry, still. I wish I’d found a way around it all somehow. Found you sooner.”
“Wish I’d looked sooner, wish I hadn’t let Mama spook me so, wish I’d had the nerve to try.”
Marty reached over and laid an arm on her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “Don’t kick yourself, baby. We’re all right now.”
Mae turned at the sign for the Botanical Gardens, parked near the azalea gardens, and they got out and walked. Azaleas and rhododendrons, the last remaining spring flowers in the thick greenness of summer, bloomed in pinks, whites, oranges. As Mae and Marty walked the paths, he asked about Rhoda-Rae.
“Haven’t heard from her since she and that doctor headed off to Florida. Doubt that I will. Arnie’ll tell me all the drama, though, when there’s some to hear.”
“Your mother will never be dull, will she?”
“That’s one way to put it. I’ve had to wonder why you married her.”
“She was fun. Made me laugh. Good dancer. But I didn’t ask her—she chose me. All the other fellas tried to bed her, but I was a gentlemen. She had no idea why. And I didn’t want to face up to that. Think she picked me because I was hard to get. Good looking and hard to get.”
Mae let the image sink in. Rhoda-Rae as a college girl at Appalachian State, pursuing the gentlemanly baseball star who never tried to seduce her. “You sound like you forgive her.”
“Not really. But I had her in a terrible situation, especially for a woman like her. She places a great value on being desired.” He stopped and picked up a fallen azalea blossom, resumed walking, twirling the flower in his fingers. “Haven’t seen these in years.” He dropped the flower. “Rhoda-Rae speaking to you? You said you hadn’t heard from her ...”
“No. She just can’t get past my having the sight. Still thinks it’s evil.”
“She blames that gift for a lot of things, baby. Like losing me.”
“I thought Granma tried to heal you. I didn’t think she told Mama.”
“Nothing to do with your Granma.” They came to a visitor’s center, and walked past it into a small Japanese garden with raked sand and an arche
d bridge facing a large pond. Something in its atmosphere slowed them to a more contemplative pace. “I did go to her for a healing, and she said there was nothing wrong with me. No, it was your mama that used the sight to see what I was up to. Thought I had a woman, that I was giving her a taste of her own medicine, running around. Got jealous and tried to see.”
“Mama had the sight?”
“She’d prayed it away when she was a teenager, thought it was wicked, and didn’t use it again until that night. And it about killed her. Not just what she learned about me, but what she thought she’d done. Given in to the devil, and had to kick me out for what he showed her. But she kept beating herself up for it, sent me this long, sad letter when Niall and I got to Santa Fe, saying how she’d prayed Jesus to take the sight away again forever, because she knew if she hadn’t used it, I would have stayed for you, and she thought that would have brought me to Jesus and cured me. It wouldn’t have. But I’d have given up Niall for you, that much was true. He was an artist-in-residence for one year at Appalachian, and he’d have been gone, and I would have stayed here. If Rhoda-Rae hadn’t found out.”
“No wonder she thinks it’s so bad.”
“But it’s not. Truth wants out. She made me get honest with her, and with myself. Hard part was being forced to choose between the two people I love most in the world. I was gonna choose you—but she made me choose Niall.” They paused in front of the pond, and he put his arm around Mae’s shoulders. “Rhoda-Rae wasn’t equipped to handle that gift. Too much for her.”
“That’s a kind way of putting it. Nicer than what I’d say.”
“I’ve had a few more years without her. Makes it easier.” He chuckled, then grew more serious. “How are you doing, coping with the sight yourself?”
They resumed their walk, past a stand of bamboo. “I’m getting the hang of it. Mostly learning from books. I’ve only had one teacher, really, and—” What could she say about Charlie? Mae had gone back to the Madison after his lesson and used Bernadette’s sage and cedar to smudge the dragon balls out on the fire escape until the brocaded box smelled like it had been at a campfire. And yet Mae had used them, and his teachings, used them well, to increase and focus her healing energies. She still couldn’t close off that sixth chakra in her own head very well, but she was getting better at helping other people. “I only had one lesson. He was a good teacher, but I wouldn’t say he was a good man.”
“Good judgment. That you’d know the difference.” The next garden they entered featured two rows of statues between stands of shade trees, a classical European atmosphere. Mae and Marty started down one aisle, and the air felt slightly cooler, as if the trees invited a breeze under them. “You get out to New Mexico, you’ll meet some other healers. Lots of people do that kind of work in Santa Fe. You could probably study with someone, maybe on your breaks from college.”
“I’m not decided about that yet.”
“Sorry. I get hopeful.” He paused before he spoke, looking aside at the trees. “Just don’t forget. Free tuition.” He looked at her again, and walked a little closer. “And the young’uns can visit you out there. I know it’s hard, but you wouldn’t be cut off like I was. And we’d be together. You can take the June SATs, if you register right away. And I know you’d get in at Rio Grande, you were always smart.”
He had it all worked out for her. Was she resisting for any good reason? Did she have any doubts left about him? Any reason to hold back?
They turned the corner to the next aisle of the garden. In front of them, a kiddy train with a caterpillar head crawled along the crest of the hill, full of waving toddlers and mothers, and a few fathers. Mae waved back at them and felt a stab of longing for her old role. She looked at Marty, who also smiled and waved at the children. This summer she’d have to bring the children up to ride on this little train, and go to Cauwetska and bring them over to Arnie’s every week, so she could have them overnight. And then—her life was at a dead end if she didn’t face it—one more hard goodbye.
Strangely, it felt right to accept it. She watched the caboose of the kiddy train round a bend. “I’m gonna do it.” She met her father’s eyes. “Go to school. Start over.”
“That’s my girl. I knew you were a free spirit.”
“Me?” Mae had never seen herself that way before. Always boxed in by someone or something. But it hit her—she wasn’t anymore. “I guess I am.”
If she had chosen her enemies before she was born, like Dana said, it was a good choice, a good set of lessons. Charlie Tann had done her quite a favor, with that job at Healing Balance. One that cost her everything—and freed her. Maybe freed him, too.
Epilogue
August 2010
It was a perfect day for golf, hot under clear skies with a small flock of pretty white clouds and a light breeze that cooled without affecting the flight of the ball too much. Charlie groaned at Randi’s insistence on walking the course, but as far as she could tell he was enjoying the game. His doctor wanted him walking, and even though he had to go slowly, he was getting better with his breath and his endurance. He was even a few strokes ahead of her.
“How long since you’ve played?” she asked, as he somewhat stiffly removed his ball from the cup at the third hole.
“First time since my surgery.” He straightened up. “But age and wickedness will always defeat youth and virtue.”
“Isn’t that some old saying?”
“If it’s not, some old sayer just made it one.”
She putted and her ball hovered on the lip of the hole, seeming to rock there, yet not falling.
“Are you doing something with it? Doing your mojo?”
He raised his hands, as if to show he had no weapons. “Things line up ... line up the way they do.”
It took her another stroke to knock the ball in, and they walked to the next tee. “Have you heard from Bernadette?” he asked
“Paula has. Some study they’re working on, something about poor people’s food.”
“Poverty. Always that do-gooder bleeding heart.” Charlie shook his head. “Typical Bernadette.”
“But not Charlie. Rich people’s food. There’s a study for you.”
He laughed. “I’m trying to study that less.”
“So you’re behaving yourself?”
“I take your meaning, and yes, I am.”
She’d only meant following his diet, but maybe he was living differently in other ways as well. As well as being a tad thinner, he seemed less hostile, less irritable. That had to be good for his heart. He teed up and lifted into his swing. His ball soared and landed perfectly in the fairway, not as far as he might have sent it a year ago, but precisely in the trajectory he had clearly intended.
“That’s crazy. I mean, I play every week, and you’re clobbering me,” Randi said as she teed up. “Okay. I’m going to pass you by ten yards.” Her ball landed a little short of his.
“Not bad. For a girl. Not bad.”
“I think you’re messing with me.”
He shook his head as they walked up to where their balls lay.
“I don’t do that.”
“You used to. You’d get the lights to flicker, the elevator to stop—”
“I don’t play with that stuff anymore.” He sounded serious. “I never should have.”
“Okay.” Randi backed off the subject, intrigued, pleased, but respecting his apparent aversion. He really had changed. Well, this was Charlie. He said he had. But if the game kept going like this, she might hold onto a glimmer of doubt.
Works referenced in The Calling
Dossey, Larry. “Deliberately caused bodily damage.” Alternative therapies in health and medicine, v. 4, no. 5 (Sept. 1998), 11-16, 103-111.
Braud, William. “Wellness implications of retroactive intentional influence: exploring an outrageous hypothesis.” Alternative therapies in health and medicine, v. 6, no. 1 (Jan. 2000), 36-48.
Dunne, B.J. and Jahn, R.G. “Consciousness, information and
living systems.” Cellular and molecular biology, v. 51 (Dec. 2005), 703-714.
Dunne, B.J. , Dobyns, Y.H., and Intner, S.M. Precognitive remote perception III: complete binary database with analytical refinements (Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research), http://www.princeton.edu/~pear/pdfs/1989-precognitive-remote-perception-iii.pdf
http://www.princeton.edu/~pear/
Keeny, Bradford and Walking Thunder. “On becoming a Dine medicine woman.” Shaman’s Drum, no. 63 (2002), 28-39.
Don, Norman S. and Moura, Gilda. “Trance surgery in Brazil.” Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, v. 6, no. 4 (July 2000),39-48.
Permutt, Philip, The Crystal Healer. (New York: Cico Books, 2007)
Author’s notes:
Coastal Virginia University and College of the Rio Grande are fictitious, as are Tylerton and Cauwetska.
The healing practices described are idiosyncratic and eclectic. They are based on research and personal contact with actual practices, but Mae’s work is not typical of Appalachian folk healing or any other particular school of healing.
About the Author
Amber Foxx has worked professionally in theater, dance, fitness, yoga, and academia. She has lived in both the Southeast and the Southwest, and calls New Mexico home.
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