Moondance

by Black, Karen M.

  “It’s tomorrow.”

  “What about Exeter?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” Althea concentrated on the spoon in front of her, scooping the ice cream, moving it to her mouth, her eyes unblinking. Princess was curled up in her lap. The jazz stopped. Sophie got up and put on another album: Michael Hedges, Aerial Boundaries. Hedges was another life taken too young. The brilliant guitarist had died in 1997 in a car accident. Sophie started slowly.

  “I’ve always believed that when life gets away from us, there are ways to get back control, to get it back and keep it.”

  “Mmmmmmm.” Althea said, leaning back in her chair. Princess stirred and settled. Sophie continued.

  “It’s about knowing the rules of life, the rules of the universe. It’s about mastering those rules to create your own life.” Sophie sat forward, her blue eyes fixed on Althea who now stared back at her.

  “The rules of the universe,” Althea repeated.

  “Yes, the people who just trust life, they have no control, they’re the passives. They look at the world and what’s in front of them and they accept everything they see. They don’t see the possibilities, they don’t recognize opportunity, they don‘t embrace their own power.”

  Sophie could feel her emotions rising as she spoke, her words, held captive for years, stumbling out in an evangelical stream. As Sophie recited the speech she had been practicing for decades, Althea straightened in her seat.

  “The passives have faith, they say, but they’re really weak and let others control them. The atheists say they don’t believe in anything, except maybe science. The truth is, all of them — most of the people in this world — are just too afraid to try. What they don’t get is that it’s not up to God, or the universe, or science whatever you want to call it. It’s up to us. The universe provides the tools, but we hold the key. It’s right in front of us: the power to take the reigns and shape our lives the way we want. To triumph over tragedy. To control our own destiny. To singularly define and shape the outcome of our lives, no matter what life throws at us. To envision each event and make it happen exactly the way we want. I believe that harnessing the power of the universe to manifest our dreams is the most important thing we can learn as a human being.

  I look at you and I see myself before I married Albert. You’ve done so well for yourself. Getting your MBA, buying your condo, saving a nest egg.

  I know Vince is hard for you. I know that’ll take a while. But you’re at an important turning point. I know it, I feel it. And I have to ask you — after all of this passes, what do you want out of life? What do you dream of?”

  “What do I dream of?”

  “Yes, unless you know, unless you think about it, understand it, taste it, want it more than anything else, make a plan to get it — it won’t happen. Your fear will control you.”

  “What are you getting at, Sophie?”

  “What I’m getting at is love, Althea. What about love? Where does love fit? Where does family fit? And what are you prepared to do about it? The love of a soul mate, Althea, is the only thing that matters. Do you have the desire, Althea? Is it enough to —”

  “Do I have the desire? For a soul mate? Do I want to have a kid? Jesus fucking Christ! I’m about to lose my fucking job, a good friend has just died. And oh — do you recall? — this week I also found out that my ex was fucking someone behind my back. And why not? It seems I’m a magnet for guys who like to control me, or fuck other women. So sure, that makes sense. Why don’t I ignore all the other shit going on in my life and go find me another guy?”

  Princess bolted off Althea’s lap and headed for the kitchen. Althea stood up violently, pacing across the solarium, her fists flying at an invisible target. Sophie had never seen her like this. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.

  Althea wasn’t finished.

  “You know, I’m sitting out at the lake thinking that I want to talk to Vince — just one more time, you know? And I think, well, maybe he’ll hear me. Then I think that’s such fucking bullshit. When you’re dead, you’re dead, gone, blackness, it’s over, zip. And for the last two years, all I wanted to do was concentrate on work for a while and even that falls apart. After taking a fucking seventy per cent pay cut! Why the fuck do I need a man in my life? Why would you even bring this up? Haven’t you been paying attention? Do you think I haven’t got shit on enough? Do you think I should be a good little masochist and run back for more? My life is a fucking joke.”

  Althea leaned forward as though her body had deflated, her head down, both hands on her chair to steady herself.

  “Please sit down, sweetie. Al, I didn’t mean —”

  “What did you mean Sophie?”

  “Just that love, a love that’s like —”

  “What are you going to tell me? Is it like the love you had for my father? A man whose name I don’t even fucking know!”

  “I told you that the family that’s left doesn’t care. He wouldn’t want —”

  “What, like I should have a child? So I can lose him in the end, like you lost Gregg?”

  “No, Al honey, listen for a minute —”

  “So I can lose everything I loved, just like you, and then spend the rest of my life trying to control fucking everything and everyone around me? That’s what you want for me? Or is it really what you want for yourself?”

  “Althea, please calm down. It wasn’t like that.”

  “You know what? I don’t care any more. I don’t care what you had with my father. I don’t even care about the brother I don’t even remember. It’s a fucking fairy tale, Sophie.”

  “That’s not —”

  “Obviously, for me, based on history, it is. So fucking drop it.”

  Althea locked eyes with her and turned, walking out of the room. The temperature in the room felt cooler. Sophie was breathing heavily. She sat down and put her hand to her temple, hoping that it would ease the pressure behind her eyes. She had no idea Althea would react like this, no idea she would become so angry, no idea that she still felt that way about her father. So strongly. Gone but not forgotten.

  She had to get Althea back, had to do something. But how could she explain it to her? How could she convey how important staying open was, especially right now? Let her know that he exists, that Sophie had seen him, and that he was close.

  • • •

  ALTHEA LAY IN BED in the dark, drifting in, drifting out, her mind tracing footsteps, meandering. She called it the pre-slumber ricochet. She was exhausted. She hated her life. Her body was rigid, and her chest felt hollow as if she had just expelled something poisonous. Her thoughts were an acid cloud, enclosing her from all sides as she hovered on the edge of anxious sleep.

  With her eyes closed, she found herself in the hallway of her imagination, doors fanned out in front of her like tarot cards. She opened a door on her left and saw Sophie sitting cross-legged. The smoky spice smell of incense tickled her nose. Sophie. A pang of shame at her cruelty. You’re not alone. Michelle’s words. Don’t be afraid to seek wise council.

  Ricochet.

  Celia in Africa, leaving soon. With the Moon, Althea, things are never what they seem.

  In the vision, she moved away from the room and opened another door and felt rather than saw Vince’s face.

  Ricochet.

  The funeral tomorrow. She closed Vince’s door.

  She knew that White Light was vulnerable because of its accounting practices. She wasn’t sure what the vulnerability was but she knew Exeter had found it. Vince had made a bad decision somewhere, or a series of bad decisions. Perhaps it had been sloppiness, blind trust or greed, but he had screwed up and his mistake had killed him.

  She turned to glide further down the hallway that lengthened and narrowed, a long white path, her own personal fun house. She moved toward the natural light and when she got there, there was only a blank wall with a framed black-and-whit
e picture on it: Sophie, Albert and herself. Who took the picture? She went to pull it from the wall and it slipped from her hands. She imagined a window there, in its place. Nothing. Her panic rose. No way out. She turned, hoping to go back the way she came. Albert’s voice. Don’t be afraid, wee one. You’re not alone.

  Ricochet.

  Earlier. Althea and Tori as they played the Ouija board. I love you, it said. You’ll go to hell playing that, Kevin’s mother said. Tori and Althea, holding the pointer between them, moving, spelling the words: Tell me a story.

  Ricochet.

  Now. In her body again, just a woman whose mind was racing, whose heart was filled with grief and shame, and whose body was falling in and out of sleep, pre-dream images scattered like randomly thrown playing cards.

  Ricochet.

  Sophie’s voice. What do you want most, Althea? His green eyes glowed from behind her own and as his hands cupped her face, her heart filled with liquid sadness.

  chapter 39

  THE REALITY OF LARA leaving was gentler than Michael had anticipated. For over fifteen years, he had nurtured the feeling, one whose fingers had clutched and squeezed and had held him suspended and which now fell over him like cool fleece.

  The day after he drove Althea home, he had returned to find Lara sitting at the kitchen table, looking out into their backyard. Her fine blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore no makeup. As he approached her, he had thought how refined she looked, how composed. From her profile, she had looked like the girl he had fallen in love with, the one with whom he felt safe. When she turned to him, the natural light betrayed her thirty-five years, lines now softly defining the corners of her eyes and the delicate crease between them.

  Michael’s world swam. Over fifteen years, he thought, it’s taken her over fifteen years — longer than he had ever imagined. He sat down and looked into her eyes.

  “Michael —”

  “I know.”

  “At first, I really wanted to.”

  “I know.”

  “And now I don’t.”

  “I know.” Lara broke eye contact.

  “I thought since I am the one leaving.” Lara pushed keys toward him.

  He nodded.

  “I’m sorry.” Her eyes were clearer than he had ever seen them. He knew that she was.

  “I’ll be staying at my parents for a bit. I got a promotion. I’m moving to New York.”

  He nodded.

  “I have a lawyer who will contact you and we can work it out from there.”

  He nodded.

  She stood. He understood it was unlikely that he would see her again. Standing at their kitchen table, she held out her hand, completing the transaction.

  She was gone.

  That night, Michael slept through the night for the first time in years. As the days went by, his curiosity about Althea waned. He saw her at a distance at Vince’s funeral and he waved half-heartedly. If she had sought him out, he would have listened and possibly got lost in her eyes for a time. But she didn’t. She didn’t even wave back. He really couldn’t blame her.

  With the acquisition of White Light, Michael’s work demanded some concentration. Numbers were logical and they were predictable. Unlike visions and dreams, which were nebulous.

  Like White Light’s future.

  Like his own.

  chapter 40

  AT SUNRISE, SOPHIE SAT on a platform rocker looking out her bedroom window as Althea got into a taxi cab. She felt sick to see Althea leaving. After their argument, Sophie hadn’t been able to sleep. Her daughter’s anger had jolted her.

  Downstairs, she made a list of things she wanted to say to Althea and left it on the kitchen counter weighed down with an old fashioned glass so that Princess wouldn’t knock the note to the floor. Sophie spent the rest of the day in her garden, distracted, not getting much done. Later, she prepared dinner as if Althea would be home shortly. She made a big pitcher of martinis with hot pepper vodka and put the pitcher in the freezer, assembling a bowl of jalapeño stuffed olives as an accompaniment. She put out some velvety pâté to warm to room temperature and added chipotle pepper sauce to fresh lamb chops, covering them with plastic.

  Sophie fed Princess and put on some jazz and was surprised when Althea opened the front door holding two bags. Sophie turned to face her.

  “I’m sorry,” Althea said. She was wearing a flowing, feminine, acid-green dress with an uneven hemline. It accented her golden hair and made her eyes look bright aquamarine. Sophie thought how beautiful she looked. Princess wound around Althea’s legs, looking up at her.

  “Me too.” Sophie smiled faintly. “Have you eaten?”

  “Nibbled. They sent me home with a ton of leftovers.”

  Sophie poured them both a martini. They sat in the solarium in the same chairs they sat in the night before. The worst was over but Sophie knew she still had to be careful.

  “How was Phyllis?”

  “As expected. Gracious, sweet, she couldn’t stop thanking people. Her sister’s staying with her tonight.”

  “Losing someone you love is one of the toughest things anyone has to go through,” Sophie said.

  “I can’t imagine how long it takes to get over it.”

  “Sometimes it’s just not possible.” Sophie said. The album finished its last track: an early Louis Armstrong, recorded in Chicago just as he broke out as a soloist.

  “I need some more music.” Althea said and headed into the living room. This time she put on George Winston’s solo piano tribute to The Doors: Night Divides the Day.

  Sophie topped up their glasses and put the vegetables on, swaying to the sprinkling of piano. She used her fingers on the countertop to find the notes. What I’m doing is right, she thought. Maybe Althea had heard her.

  Sophie had been shown long ago that Althea would be right for the role Sophie needed her to play. She had it in her, Sophie was certain. Sophie could put things in motion, had spent her life doing just that — but the rest, she knew, would be up to Althea.

  First, she needed to have the desire.

  chapter 41

  “LET’S GO FOR A walk.” Sophie said.

  Past the willows, down the path, one skip left to the railroad tracks, though no trains had passed through here in decades. The sky was dotted with wispy clouds and the air was fresher and less humid than it had been. It was a great place to walk — and a great place to make out, Althea remembered. She had never been here with Sophie.

  “Let’s go this way,” Sophie said. “I want to show you something.” She led Althea off the tracks and into a field along a faintly recognizable path.

  “The site?”

  “Yes. I figured you knew about it.”

  “I didn’t know that you knew about it.”

  Sophie laughed.

  “Oh yes, we knew more than you thought. We didn’t say much, but we knew.”

  The tracks twenty feet behind them, they entered a meadow of grass and low brush sprinkled with purple and yellow wildflowers. Further in, grape leaves, wild apples and lilacs grew, infusing the air with perfume. The sun was bright and Althea could hear the pining of insects. They passed through a cluster of deciduous trees and stepped into a shaded clearing. The leafy canopy above them glowed granny-apple green. A ravine plunged down to the left. An oak tree stood straight ahead with expansive limbs open as if expecting an embrace.

  As they approached, Althea tripped on an old beer can. They weren’t the only ones who sought out this place. But for the beer can, most of the camp was intact, just as Althea remembered. She surveyed the site.

  At the end of the clearing was a free-standing stone fireplace, which looked as if it had been used recently. A makeshift ladder was nailed into the trunk of the oak, which had also been scarred long ago with symbols she didn’t recognize and the declarations of lovers past. It was Althea’s old lookout post. Sometimes, she used to come and watch the sunset, though she rarely stayed after dark. As children, she and Tori slep
t out here sometimes. “A bed under the stars,” as Albert used to say.

  The oak stood as strong and tall as ever, the familiar carvings displayed like proud tattoos on its side. She never understood the carved symbols, circles upon circles, the pattern at once alien and familiar, its unknown creator adding to the mystery of this place. While sitting deep in Sophie’s back yard, Althea and Tori had told each other stories about the creatures that came here to carve symbols in this tree, daring each other to go into the bush to see if the exotic visitors were real. The creatures, they imagined, spoke in an ancient language, stayed long enough to carve their messages, then quickly disappeared into the sky.

  Beyond the oak, further in, was a wooden shelter built on the slant of soft earth. This was where Althea and Tori had slept. The supports were made of wooden boughs and the top was shingled with bark. Though it had faded, the shelter was surprisingly stable, narrow branches of wood bound together securely with rusted metal strips. It was remarkable that no one had destroyed it.

  Althea walked over to the oak and looked up. The platform was still there. From the platform, one could peek through the trees at the stars, in particular, at the big and little dipper. Tori thought the platform was a way for someone to connect with the spirit of nature, like the Indians did, to pray under the stars. Althea thought it had been built by runaways as a lookout post.

  “It’s been many years since I’ve been here,” Sophie said. “Albert built this place.”

  Althea was stunned. Sophie had never mentioned it to her. But then, she hadn’t mentioned the site to Sophie either. It was a childhood place. She was intrigued.

  “Did you sleep out here?”

  “Sleep, spend evenings.” Sophie said. “We created dreams here, Althea. After Albert died, I didn’t come, I found I didn’t need to.”

  “The dream wasn’t the same without Albert?” Althea asked.

  “No, not like that. The dream is still very much alive.” Sophie’s round blue eyes glowed.