by Isobel Bird
“Well, I told you that there’s the Goddess,” Kate began. “She’s like this big presence that’s out there.”
“Like God?” asked Kyle.
“Yes and no,” Kate said. “I think it depends a lot on what you believe. There’s no one way of thinking about her.”
“How do you think of her?”
Kate bit her lip. “You’re going to think this is really weird,” she said.
“No weirder than I did before,” Kyle retorted.
“Okay,” Kate said. “Just bear with me. You know the big space station in Star Wars, the one that all the other fighter planes flew back and forth from?”
“Yeah,” Kyle said, looking at her with a wondering expression.
“Well, I sort of think of the Goddess like that,” Kate said.
“As the Death Star?” repeated Kyle. “Isn’t that a little creepy? I mean what with the whole intergalactic evil thing and all?”
“Not as the Death Star itself,” Kate said. “But as this big entity made up of lots of smaller entities. Each one of them has a different job, and she sends them out when she needs those jobs done. It’s like the Goddess herself is too big for me to really think about without getting a little overwhelmed, like when you try to think of the ocean as the ocean or space as space, you know? But the little entities I can understand, like Demeter.”
She paused, looking at her brother. She’d never really put her thoughts about the Goddess into words before, and now that she had she realized that it was harder to do than she’d thought. She wondered if Kyle had any understanding of what she was talking about.
“It’s almost like a beehive,” he said carefully. “There’s this one big queen bee and she sends out the other bees to do stuff.”
“Kind of,” Kate answered. “But she’s not bossy or anything. And really they’re all just parts of her. It’s not like they work for her or anything like that.”
“Okay,” Kyle said. “I think I understand that part. But I still don’t get what witches do. I mean, what’s with the chanting and the black robes and all of that?”
“Not everyone wears black robes,” Kate said. “That’s another one of those things that people just assume. Not that we can’t wear them if we want to, but they’re just costumes. Witchcraft isn’t about what you wear; it’s about what you do.”
“Which is what I’ve been trying to get out of you,” said Kyle impatiently.
“I know, I know,” Kate said. “It’s just kind of hard to put into words.”
She changes everything she touches, and everything she touches changes. The words to a familiar Wiccan chant ran through her thoughts like water over stones.
“It’s about change,” Kate said, suddenly understanding how to explain it to Kyle. “Wicca is about change. We try to connect with nature, and with energy, in order to change things.”
“What kinds of things?” her brother pressed her.
“Lots of things,” Kate said. “The way we see things. The way we interact with people. The way we live. Take Aunt Netty, for example. Remember when we did that healing ritual for her in the hospital?”
Kyle nodded. He’d been there when some of Kate’s Wiccan friends had performed a healing circle to try to help her aunt in her fight against cancer. He hadn’t known that’s what they were doing, exactly, but he’d experienced it. And he’d seen her get better. But Kate knew that, like her father, Kyle attributed Netty’s recovery to medicine, not to magic.
“We were trying to get her body to change the way it interacted with the cancer inside of her,” Kate said. “We were using the energy within us to help her do that.”
Kyle looked skeptical. “And that’s what Wicca is?” he said.
“Not entirely,” said Kate. “Basically it’s about connecting to nature, and to the energy in nature, and finding ways to use those connections to make positive changes in our lives.” She’d never summed witchcraft up so simply before, but listening to herself speak, she realized that her definition was pretty accurate.
“So the robes and the candles and the mumbo jumbo . . .” said Kyle, looking at her questioningly.
“Just part of the act,” said Kate. “We’re a creative bunch.”
“I see,” said Kyle, nodding.
When he didn’t say anything else Kate grew impatient. She wanted some kind of reaction from her brother. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to talk to him, and he wasn’t saying anything. Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Well?” she demanded.
“Well what?” asked Kyle.
“What do you think?” Kate said.
“I don’t know,” Kyle said. “I guess I understand it all a little better, but I still think it’s kind of woo-woo.”
Kate sighed. “Gee, thanks a—”
“Hold on,” Kyle said. “Let me finish.”
Kate stopped and looked at him. Kyle waited, making sure she wasn’t going to interrupt him. Then he continued. “As I was saying, I still think it’s kind of woo-woo,” he said as Kate made a face. “But if it’s important to you, I’m sorry I made you feel bad about it. You’re right. I should have listened.”
Kate smiled a little. “Thanks,” she said. Inside she was jumping for joy. She’d gotten her brother—the most stubborn guy on earth—to admit that he’d been wrong. Maybe he didn’t think Wicca was the real thing, but at least he’d listened to her, and at least she’d been able to explain the Craft to him in her own clumsy way.
“So, if I remember correctly this all started because you wanted me to help you get Mom and Dad to let you start seeing Tyler again,” Kyle said. “Still need help with that?”
Kate groaned. “No,” she said. “But that’s a whole other story.”
“So tell me,” Kyle said. “You’re on a roll.”
Kate hesitated. Did she want to get into the whole Tyler-and-Annie disaster with Kyle? She’d always been able to talk to him about her problems before, but she was unsure. Part of her wanted to feel as close to him as she used to, to be his little sister. But the way he’d reacted to her at Thanksgiving still bothered her.
She changes everything she touches. The words came to her again. Had she, with the help of the Goddess, really changed the way Kyle thought about Wicca? She didn’t know. But she thought that maybe she had, if just a little bit. And he was the one who had suggested talking about Tyler. Maybe it was time to take another chance.
“Okay,” she said. “But this talk definitely requires cheesecake.”
Kyle looked at her in mock terror. “I don’t know,” he said. “Look what happened last time.”
“Don’t worry,” Kate said, ruffling her brother’s hair as she walked out of the room. “I won’t tell her about the pierced nipple.”
“How did you know?” Kyle called out, running after her.
CHAPTER 8
Cooper stopped running and bent over, her hands on her knees. Her breathing was ragged and she was sure she could taste blood in her mouth. It’s okay, she told herself. You’re probably just having a heart attack.
She’d just finished running a mile, and she wanted to die. It hadn’t seemed like a very long distance when she’d started out twelve minutes before, but after only a few blocks she’d had second thoughts about her resolution to start exercising. Where was that “runner’s high” she’d heard so much about? Where was the thrill of being out in nature? Where was the joy of connecting with her body?
“I’ve felt better while throwing up,” she remarked out loud as she walked around a little, trying to get rid of the persistent cramp in her side. She felt terrible. To make things worse, the batteries on her tape player had run out five minutes into her run, Steven Tyler’s voice slurring to a dead stop, and she’d been forced to go the rest of the way without any musical encouragement. And now it had started to rain, a cold winter drizzle that trickled down her neck and made her shiver.
“You’re not making this any more appealing,” she said, looking up at the sky. Then she turned a
nd ran for home, reaching the front door just as the rain began to fall in earnest.
“How was your run?” her mother asked as Cooper shut the door behind her. Mrs. Rivers was standing in the doorway of the living room.
“Next time I announce that I’m going to engage in physical exercise, stop me,” Cooper replied.
Her mother laughed a little too hard. It’s not that funny, Cooper thought dully as she ran up the stairs to her room.
She put her tape player on the dresser and slipped off her sneakers. Her socks were damp, and her feet felt frozen. She couldn’t wait to take a hot shower. Quickly, she removed her clothes and grabbed some jeans and a shirt, which she carried with her to the bathroom.
The hot water felt wonderful when she slipped into the shower. It ran over her shoulders and down her back, warming her skin and making her feel better almost instantly. The steam rose up around her, and she relaxed as her tired muscles were soothed by the warmth. Already she was forgetting about how awful running the mile had been, and part of her even looked forward to doing it again.
It was Wednesday evening. Her homework was done, and she was looking forward to relaxing with a book for a couple of hours. Friday was right around the corner, and then there was the weekend to look forward to. Kate’s birthday party was on Saturday, and that was going to be fun.
You didn’t invite Jane yet. The thought slashed across her happiness like a lightning bolt. She’d been avoiding thinking about Jane. When was it that they’d had their falling out? Monday, she thought. Only two days. But somehow it seemed longer than that. She’d successfully managed not to think about it too much, and she realized now that part of her had become convinced that the problem was taking care of itself while she was avoiding it. But of course it wasn’t, and now she had to decide how she was going to handle things.
But first she was going to wash her hair. The temporary dye she’d put in for New Year’s had pretty much worn off, although she noticed that the water streaming around her feet had a faintly pinkish cast to it. Sort of like the blood going down the drain in the shower scene from Psycho, she thought with some measure of macabre satisfaction.
Squeezing a little bit of shampoo into her palm, she worked it into her hair. It felt good to be rubbing her scalp. There was something comforting about being in the shower, about being contained in the shell of warmth and steam. She knew her problems—her mother and Jane and the questions about her future with T.J.—were waiting for her outside the shower curtain, ready to sweep over her like a cold wind when she got out, but for now she was happy. For the next five minutes she was going to enjoy being alone with the water.
She rinsed her hair, the water flowing over her face and down her body. It felt great to be clean, and warm, and she was ready to make some decisions. First I’m going to call Jane, she told herself. She knew it might be awkward, even painful, but she had to do it. Jane was her friend, after all. Cooper would apologize for telling her friends Jane’s secret. She would invite her to Kate’s party. Maybe Jane would come; maybe she wouldn’t. But at least they’d be talking again.
Cooper turned off the water and pushed the curtain aside. She’d left the bathroom door closed so that the steam would stay inside, and it filled the small space with its ghostly fog. She grabbed her towel from the hook by the shower and dried herself off. Then she pulled on her clothes and opened the door.
She walked quickly to her room, not wanting to stay in the drafty hallway any longer than she had to. As she passed the stairway she heard music coming from downstairs. Her mother had put something on the CD player. What was it? Cooper paused and strained to hear. She could just make out the sound of someone singing. Joni Mitchell, she thought as she made out the words. She must really be depressed.
She continued on into her room, shutting the door to drown out the sound of the music. She wished she could make her mother feel better. More and more she had been having a drink or two after dinner and listening to sad music. Cooper wanted to talk to her about how she was feeling, but she couldn’t. She and her mother had never been very close. Besides, she was the daughter. Her mother was supposed to comfort her. Cooper didn’t know what to do. She made a mental note to talk to her father about it the next time he called. But first things first, she thought as she picked up her phone and dialed Jane’s number. She would get their conversation out of the way so she could enjoy the rest of her evening.
The phone rang three, four times, then five, with no answer. Jane always picked up before three rings, and Cooper was about to hang up when she heard the sound of someone fumbling with the receiver.
“Hello?” said a soft voice, almost like a child.
“Mr. Goldstein?” Cooper said, surprised. Jane’s grandfather never answered the phone. Jane had told her once that he was almost mortally afraid of it and its ringing, one of the many eccentricities he’d developed in his old age.
“Yes,” the old man said. “Who is this?”
“It’s Cooper, Mr. Goldstein,” said Cooper. “Jane’s friend,” she added, thinking he might not remember her name.
“Oh,” he said. “Yes.”
“Is Jane home?” asked Cooper, still unsure of whether or not Mr. Goldstein had any idea who she was.
“No,” he said. “No, she’s not.”
“Do you have any idea when she’ll be back?” asked Cooper.
“You’re Jane’s friend,” he said. “Cooper?”
“That’s right,” Cooper answered. “I come over to play music with Jane sometimes.”
“Ah, yes,” said the old man. “I like you.”
Cooper smiled to herself. “I like you, too, Mr. Goldstein,” she said. “Do you know when Jane will be back?”
Mr. Goldstein sighed. “She’s not here,” he said.
Cooper wasn’t sure what to say. Jane’s grandfather seemed to be a little out of it, and she didn’t want to confuse him any more than he already was. She was just about to say that she would call back later when Mr. Goldstein said, “She’s at the hospital.”
“Hospital?” Cooper said, worried. “Is everything okay?”
“They took her there,” said Mr. Goldstein, ignoring Cooper’s question.
“Who?” Cooper said. “Who took her there? And why?”
“I don’t know,” answered the old man, sounding very sad.
Don’t know who or don’t know why? Cooper thought impatiently. She took a breath to calm herself before speaking again.
“Is Jane in the hospital?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Mr. Goldstein.
Cooper knew that asking what had happened would probably be too much for him, so she decided to try a different approach. “Which hospital?” she asked. “Do you know which one?”
There was silence on the other end. Then, just as Cooper thought she would scream with frustration, Mr. Goldstein said, “Saint Andrew’s.” He sounded as if he’d just remembered his own name and was very pleased about it.
“Thank you,” Cooper said. “I have to go now, Mr. Goldstein. But thank you for telling me.”
“You’re welcome,” Mr. Goldstein said. “Good-bye.”
He hung up. Cooper sat for a moment, holding the phone, until she heard the dial tone buzzing to remind her that she hadn’t hung up. She set the phone down and tried to think. Jane was in the hospital. Why? What had happened? And who was taking care of Mr. Goldstein?
She pulled on socks and shoes and looked for her jacket. She had to get to St. Andrew’s. But suddenly it was like she couldn’t find anything she needed. Her car keys weren’t where they usually were on her desk. She couldn’t find her wallet. She turned around and around, thinking a million different things. Finally she had to force herself to stop and breathe. She stayed completely still for a minute, until her heart stopped racing and she could think clearly. Then she opened her eyes and found everything she needed. Moments later she was running out the door.
“I have to go out,” she called to her mother, who responded with
something Cooper couldn’t hear. Mrs. Rivers had turned up the volume on the stereo, and Joni Mitchell filled the living room with her plaintive voice as Cooper left the house.
She got into her car and drove as quickly as she could to the hospital. Please let Jane be all right, she thought as she waited at a red light. Please let Jane be all right. She had no idea what had happened to her, but she couldn’t help thinking the worst, and she didn’t want anything to happen before she could see her friend.
Finally she reached the hospital, where she parked in the first empty spot and ran inside to the reception desk. The woman sitting there smiled kindly at her. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” Cooper said. “Jane Goldstein. I’m not sure when she came in. I just found out that she’s here.”
The woman typed something into her computer and peered at her screen. “She’s on the third floor,” she said. “Room three twenty-seven.”
“Thanks,” said Cooper. She turned and walked to the bank of elevators, pressing the up button and waiting impatiently for the car to arrive. When it did she got inside and pushed the button for the third floor.
As the elevator went up Cooper scanned the directory posted on the wall. What was on the third floor anyway? Cooper looked, praying that she wouldn’t discover that Jane was on the cancer ward or in some other equally distressing unit. “Psychiatry,” she read with some surprise. Why would Jane be there?
Before she had time to think about it the doors opened and she stepped out. She glanced to the left and right and then followed the arrow pointing to rooms 301 to 345. Room 327 was at the end of the hall. Cooper approached the door nervously, wondering what she would find waiting for her.
When she looked inside, she saw Jane sitting up in bed, looking very unhappy. A dark-haired woman was sitting in a chair at the end of the bed, looking equally unhappy, and a man was standing beside Jane. He, too, had dark hair, with a thinning patch at the back of his head. He was staring out the window, his hands on his hips.
Cooper wasn’t sure what she should do. She wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind. Finally she cleared her throat. The man turned around. When he saw her, he frowned.