Sandcastles

by Suzie Carr

  Dean and I laughed along with the crowd.

  “He’s a nut,” Dean said, staring at the video in awe. “He certainly knows how to elevate the credibility of psychics like Willow to a much-deserved level.”

  He sure did.

  I leaned against Dean, as we continued to watch the last minutes of Pat immortalized in his unfiltered, childlike manner.

  “In all seriousness,” he said, folding his fingers under his chin like a steeple. “I’m here today because the cookies are f’ing awesome.” He laughed at himself in his usual obnoxious tone.

  I would miss that laugh.

  “Okay, okay, I digressed.” He refocused, pacing the floor again.

  “So why am I here today? You’re all looking at me like I’ve got all the answers.” His shoulders dropped slightly, as he settled into a serious gaze. “I don’t. But I do have a pretty good handle on a few things. For instance, I hear people all the time saying things like ‘I don’t have time to take a pee, let alone sit with a friend and talk, take the dog on a walk, or cut up an apple and sit on a park bench and enjoy the sunshine.” He exaggerated the words. “Well listen up, people,” he yelled. “Wake up call.” His voice grew bigger than the room. “Odds are you have a hell of a lot more time than I do.”

  My heart beat wildly, waiting on his words.

  He stared out at the sea of quiet people. “You have a chance to get this right. Do you know how lucky you are?” Desperation clung to his words. “You can wake up in the morning and get it right. You can right all the wrongs. Hell, it would take me another ten years to right my wrongs,” he scoffed. “I wish someone would’ve told me my fate sooner. Hell, Willow,” he said dramatically calling out her name. “I wish I would’ve met you ten years earlier so you could’ve warned me to stop being such an asshole to people.” He grinned at her. “It’s alright, doll, no pressure.” He winked.

  The crowd remained still.

  “I’m going to cut to the chase here.” He scanned the rows of focused onlookers. “Shed the regrets, people,” he yelled. “Put them in a hole in the ground and burn them. Light the little f’ers on fire and get over them because if you don’t they’ll eat you alive.” He exaggerated every last word of that sentence.

  He pointed his finger and looked directly into the camera. “No regrets.” He bowed his head, and walked off camera.

  Dean and I sat still, staring at the iPad.

  “Wow.” Dean bowed his head.

  “Talk about lighting a fire under people’s butts.”

  “We’ve all got regrets, and we need to take care of them while we can.”

  “We sure do.” I stared at his clenched jaw and wondered if one of those regrets was wasting so much time working for me.

  I eased back, striking the match to one of those regrets before it got out of control and ruined a perfectly good man’s journey in life. “That thing Pat said in the hospital about work. What was that all about?”

  He regarded me carefully. “That was nothing.”

  “You need to be honest with me.” I pointed my finger at him, swallowing the lump in my throat. “If you weren’t working for me, what would you be doing with your life?”

  He stroked Little Buggers eyelids. “What kind of question is that?”

  I clasped onto his wrist. “Answer it. Please.”

  “No,” he shook his head. “I refuse. It’s a ridiculous question.”

  “Dean,” I said, squeezing his wrist. “Please be honest.”

  He stared down at my firm grip around his wrist.

  I wouldn’t let up on it. “Tell me what you would do differently with your life.”

  He squeezed his fist. “You’re cutting off the circulation to the rest of my arm.”

  I didn’t ease up still. I needed all the leverage I could gain.

  “Well fine,” he said, snippety. “For starters, I’d work a normal eight hour day. I’d do yoga every morning and possibly find myself taking up something fanciful like oil painting with my free time. I’d also take vacations, most likely to scuba resorts and then maybe alternating those with hiking a new mountain. Lastly, and most importantly, I’d get a solid eight hours of sleep every night.”

  Tears stung the back of my eyes and began their descent down my cheeks. “I never knew you were so miserable.”

  He touched me gently on the shoulder with one hand and wiped my tears with the other. “I’m far from miserable.”

  I wrestled with my tears. “You spent the last five years repaying me with your loyalty, working like a dog,” I said.

  “You have worked us like dogs. I can’t disagree.” He continued wiping my tears. “You know, you don’t need to continue filling that void anymore. There’s more to life than work. Start balancing yourself better by embracing the fun too.”

  “I’m glad at least you’ve learned to have fun. I hope you continue to have fun because it’s more than deserved. You paid your debt a long time ago, Dean.”

  He blinked, and in that blink I saw the birth of a watery, peaceful recognition. “Repaying you has been my greatest honor.”

  His admission placated to that part of my heart that needed to be told the truth. He had in fact been repaying me.

  “You’re going to be a hard one to replace,” I said, spilling more tears.

  “Are you firing me?” Shock spilled out of every fine line on his face. His chin quivered.

  I leaned back. “I thought you were just quitting. Weren’t you?”

  “Quitting?” His voice rose high, and his eyes grew more watery. “Lia, working for you has been my greatest honor.” He wrestled with his quivering chin. “I love working with you.” A tear escaped his dewy eyes and rolled down his cheek. “I can’t imagine a life when I’m not working with you. You may as well sweep me out to sea if I’m not working with you.” He punctuated each sentence with a sniffle.

  Tripped up by the clutter of untold truths, I stared at him for a long moment. “Pat delivered a sharp truth, though, that we can’t deny. You are miserable.”

  He jerked forward. “Pat also said ‘fuck’ a lot. Who are you going to believe? A man who flung the f bomb around every two words or me, your most loyal and grateful friend?” He swiped the tears rolling down his face as if angry with them.

  I had no words. The tears came faster than I could catch them.

  He grabbed my hands. “I hope you understand how important it was to me that, even though it went against your grain to not work those days when I dragged you around the state to have fun, that you did anyway.” His voice broke. “You proved our friendship is more than just a fluffy word, by doing that for me. You proved that our friendship actually means something to you. You got me through this ordeal.”

  “I did?” My voice sounded small.

  “Yes,” he said with a cry clinging to the edge of his voice. “And I’ll continue to wonder, as I always have, why you’re so generous to me.” Uncertainty filled his voice.

  “Because—because I love you, my friend.” I kissed his forehead.

  He lifted his head just high enough for me to see tears and relief fill his eyes, before resting against my shoulders and breaking into his first adult cry. I patted his back, nurturing him and helping him to dissolve all the stress he carried.

  I held him, sheltering him in the safety of one of life’s most basic human emotions. Out of those tears would come a strength that would change him; an emotional shift that he desperately needed so he could finally release a lifetime accumulation of emotional baggage off his narrow, yet fully capable, shoulders.

  He trusted me, and that trust allowed him to let go of all that trapped him.

  He started to mumble something. “Eight hours a day, no more.”

  I stretched back, and he revealed a satisfied, watery grin.

  “Eight hours?”

  He arched his eyebrow at me. “And three weeks of vacation a year.”

  “A little demanding, are we?”

  He grew serious again. “Y
ou know, I’d work twenty hours a day if you needed me to.”

  I pinched his cheek. “That’s why we’re going to institute seven hour days with mandatory one hour lunches.”

  “No more twelve hour days? No more midnight oil burning?”

  “No more.”

  “Then, we’ll need to hire more staff to keep up.”

  “Then more staff it is.”

  He tilted his head, coyly. “Can we hire a handsome blonde who knows his way around a computer system?”

  “Oh? Someone in mind?”

  He shrugged and his face turned red.

  I punched his arm. “Well? Is there?”

  “Well,” he danced his head around. “I keep running into this blonde at the park who got laid off this summer. He says he’s good with his hands.” A silly grin took over his face.

  “Finally. Your mind is in the gutter like the rest of us. Halle-freaking-lujah!”

  # #

  That night, I re-watched Pat’s video. He did elevate Willow’s credibility, which was more than I’d ever done for her. No wonder she bolted from our call. She knew, just as I did, that no words would take back the hurt I caused her by not believing in her the way she deserved.

  I thought about what my father said regarding proof. What proof had I shown to Willow to show her I was not small-minded, and that she could trust her heart with mine?

  She needed to know without a doubt that I wanted to understand her, and that living life without her in it felt empty on a level I’d never experienced before. She needed more proof than shallow words.

  Suddenly, it dawned on me just how I could prove that.

  # #

  After spending the night researching my idea online and coming up with way too much drivel, I decided to pursue the old-fashioned route of research and go to a bookstore the next morning.

  I walked right up to the information desk and approached an older lady with reading glasses pulled down to the middle of her nose.

  “Where can I find books about psychics?”

  “Follow me,” she said taking off her reading glasses and leading me to the far wall.

  “These four shelves here will have plenty of choices.” She smiled and walked off.

  I browsed and browsed, looking at every one of those books. I spent four hours kneeled down on that floor, finding the perfect one that would help me understand how Willow’s beautiful mind worked. I selected a thick book, five inches to be exact. It detailed lots of research, history, and personal stories, enough to answer many questions and arm me with the knowledge to lift the credibility factor for what I was about to do.

  Later on, I set up my video camera and recorded what I hoped would convince Willow just how open-minded I could be, and how much I admired her.

  # #

  The next day, I walked through the messy aisles of the flea market, on a direct route past the mango man, past the Avon table, past the stacks of t-shirts and underwear selling for three dollars a pack, and straight ahead to Willow’s booth. Aunt Lola was reading the palm of a middle-aged Hispanic woman when she saw me enter. She motioned for me to head to the back of the booth. She offered me a wistful smile as I passed her.

  I pulled back the booth curtain and Willow stood alone eating straight from a can of peaches. She fell into an uncomfortable smile.

  “Hey you,” I said, entering her private domain.

  She half-smiled. “Hey.”

  I walked up to her. “I know you probably don’t want to see my face right now, but I needed to come here and see you.”

  She shook her head and her hair spilled down around her shoulders. “It’s sad about Pat, isn’t it?” she asked.

  I wanted to hug her and remove the awkward energy from between us. “Yeah, it sure is.”

  Her face turned pink just as it did the day I first kissed her in the pool room. She dug into her canned peaches. “Do you want some? I could put some on a plate for you.”

  I moved in closer, and took the can of peaches from her, placing it down on a folding table. I cradled her hands and told her what I came to tell her while the words still sounded good in my head. “I don’t want to be small-minded. I don’t want you to view me that way. I want to change that. I want to be that person who isn’t afraid to go against the grain and face some fears of the unknown.”

  She inhaled deeply. Her eyes watered.

  “I brought something with me that I want to show you.” I opened up my tote bag and pulled out my iPad and opened up to the video.

  She hugged herself and watched.

  “Hey, it’s Lia Stone and I wanted to share some fascinating things I’ve recently learned about psychics.” The camera zoomed in on me. “Number one – I learned that psychics rely on free-flowing energy and information, which means if a person isn’t interested in a psychic knowing what’s going on in her head, it’s highly unlikely for that psychic to get in it.” The camera zoomed back out slightly. “Number two – A psychic works by a strict code of ethics and is not about to destroy your life by telling you traumatic information without good reason. If bad news is a concern, a good reader will be there to guide you through and help you avoid the news from ever materializing by providing her insight.” The video faded to the next angle. “Number three – Psychics offer credibility. Governments and law enforcement agencies throughout the world have used verified psychics to help them out with investigations, and they’ve had remarkable success rates.” The camera caught my defined pause. “Number four - Psychics have shaped world history. Kings and rulers throughout the ages took the insights of psychics very seriously. They based political decisions and arranged marriages on the advice of psychics. This influence is dated back to the Shakespearean era.”

  The screen faded out and opened back up. “Lastly, number five - A psychic doesn’t walk around the world being a psychic all the time. She needs rest. For a psychic to tap into her ability, she needs to focus deep into her subconscious mind. A person can’t maintain that focus all day long. If she did, she’d go into extreme exhaustion and require lots of mental health therapy.”

  The camera zoomed back in. “So, there you have it. Psychics are phenomenal people whose insights have helped many throughout the ages. They are no different than you and I, other than they have incredible self-control and ability to tune out the chaos and tune into the peace of their inner voices, an ability we all have, but few are able to master. I happen to be madly in love with someone who has mastered this. She’s remarkable, and has so much to offer those who are fortunate enough to be blessed with her friendship and love.”

  Willow cupped her hands to her face, staring at the screen. Her eyes were wide and full of tears.

  “Right before walking in here,” I said. “I emailed it to my entire distribution list because it’s important people have the facts about things they don’t understand.”

  “You sent it to everyone on your list? Including your father and sister, too?”

  “Yup. They’re on there.”

  I cradled my hand to her trembling shoulder. I turned her to face me, using my thumb to wipe her tears. “I’m so sorry I doubted you.” I squeezed her shoulders. “You are so mysterious, so unique, and so interesting to me. I got scared because no one has ever been that to me. No one has ever moved me to challenge life the way you have.”

  Gratitude played out in her beautiful eyes, reflecting a brilliance that lit up her entire being.

  I reached down to her hand, lacing my fingers in hers. I brought them up to my lips, kissing them softly, lovingly, and respectfully. “Up until a few days ago, I didn’t know anything about psychics.” I reached for my tote bag and pulled out my new thick book. “I’ve been reading this nonstop, so I could come to you and say I am certifiably knowledgeable about everything and anything psychic related.”

  She lifted her eyebrow.

  “Of course, I’m not yet. I got a little overzealous in my planning. I didn’t realize how long it would take me to read seven hundred page
s.” I smiled weakly. “I look forward to reading every last page. I want to be a part of your journey.”

  She relaxed into a lopsided smile. “I’m very complicated.”

  “I love that. I don’t ever want you to be anyone else but you, complicated and all. I love you just the way you are.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “I’m madly in love with you too.”

  I kissed her forehead. “My tummy just fluttered.”

  She giggled in the way I loved, like an innocent girl discovering the beauty in a flower for the first time. “So you really want to understand me?”

  “I really do.”

  “I suppose we can take baby steps.”

  “Fine. Baby steps. Micro-baby steps. Whatever it takes to never be small-minded again,” I whispered.

  “It’s impossible for you to be small-minded now. You’ve just expanded your mind by filling it with a bunch of knowledge.”

  I closed my eyes and hugged her, embracing the glow of another regret set on fire and extinguished. I savored the warmth and compassion spreading between us.

  “My mind is craving more expansion,” I whispered, placing my cheek against hers.

  She smiled and whispered into my ear. “How much more?”

  I rested on her playfulness. “So much that it’ll take a lifetime to complete.”

  She stretched back slightly and took in my flushed face. She bit her lower lip and stared deeply into my eyes. “We better get started then, no?”

  I giggled and pulled her in close again, basking in her warm breath. “Take me there. Please,” I whispered.

  She kissed me with a deep passion, opening my mind to new possibilities that extended far beyond my old understandings of how the world, with all if its mystery and surprises, truly operated.

  Thanksgiving Day – Several Weeks Later

  On Thanksgiving Day, we blasted some Billy Joel, poured tall glasses of wine, and cooked up the biggest feast any of us had ever attempted before. We chopped pounds of potatoes, turnips, carrots, and apples, as we teased about Dean’s singing and Yvonne’s inability to grasp the concept of vlogging as the kids filmed her, in between hunting for ghosts. She froze whenever the camera pointed at her.