Moondance

by Black, Karen M.

  The balmy summer air wasn’t enough to fend off the chills on Althea’s skin, racing up her arms and neck. For a moment, it was as if she was looking at her mother for the first time.

  Althea and Sophie explored the site and Althea spent some time looking at the symbols etched in the oak.

  “What are these?”

  “Ancient, universal symbols of life. Some call them sacred.”

  “I want to climb up,” Althea said.

  “You climb if you want. I’ll wait. I want to look around, sit for a while. There are many memories here for me.”

  Sophie went to the shelter and sat down on the wooden bench that had been softened to a subtle sheen by decades of weather and use. Althea climbed the side of the oak using the boards nailed to its trunk. In four steps, she was underneath the landing. The final part was trickier. She stretched up, finding the handholds she knew were there and using these, she hoisted herself. Sophie was nowhere to be seen. She sat on the landing and breathed deeply. It was brighter here, still apple green. She looked around and up, finding a small patch of blue. Free from the earth and open to the sky.

  To her left was the trunk, with more symbols, darkened with age. As Sophie said, it was a perfect place to imagine possibilities. What did Sophie and Albert dream? Althea wanted to know. Did it have something to do with her father? Her brother? When and if she was ready, Sophie would tell her. For all Sophie’s probing into others’ lives, she could be quite secretive about her own.

  Since her blow-up, Althea had felt defeated, the same way she had felt as a teenager, when she had first asked about their family. All Althea learned was that Sophie wouldn’t budge.

  Althea watched the sky through the canopy, a tapestry of green sprinkled over a backdrop of crystal blue. And beyond that the moon, asleep right now.

  In the sky, a universe of possibilities.

  Drifting, the weariness in her bones, she closed her eyes and wasn’t surprised when she felt a finger trace her foot. It was rough yet gentle, like the finest sandpaper. She felt him all around her here, and knew that if she were to look, Albert would be sitting on the branch up and to her left, his eyes sparkling.

  Not ticklish any more. She heard Albert chuckle and pictured his brown face crinkling in a grin. Vince, Daniel, Kevin, Albert. I miss you, she thought, her eyes hot. I know, wee one. I know. Her heart was still and the words came from within her. I have to go now, he whispered But just for now, and the gentle fingers squeezed her toe and disappeared.

  • • •

  “MY LEGS ARE GONNA ache tomorrow,” Sophie laughed as they walked back to the house. “I can feel it.”

  “But the more you drink, the less you care.”

  “Something like that. I haven’t walked out here for years. But it was about time I did.” Sophie lit up a wine-dipped Colt cigar and took a puff. Althea looked at her in surprise. The sweet smoky smell reminded Althea of summers when she was a child. After Albert died, Sophie quit smoking after a bout of pneumonia. The smell stayed in the house until she re-decorated years later. To Althea’s knowledge, Sophie hadn’t smoked since.

  “What did you and Albert dream, out there in the woods?” It was the question she had wanted, but had been afraid to ask all day. Sophie puffed on the cigar and looked up.

  “We dreamed of a way of prolonging love.” Sophie said. “A way in which love could transcend.”

  “You and Albert.”

  “Yes.”

  “You celebrated your love.”

  Sophie shrugged. Althea felt a wall, as though there was some place she wasn’t allowed to go.

  “Tell me what happened just after Albert died.” Althea loved this story.

  “Well, after Albert died, we went to stay with his brother Maurice for a while on Manitoulin Island. That’s where Albert stayed when he got out of jail in New York, before we met. Where he learned woodworking and sobered up. For a while at least. Anyway, you and I were staying at Maurice’s place. I don’t know if you remember much about that time.”

  “I remember you being highly organized.” Althea said.

  “I kept moving, I had to. We had known about the cancer for a while but it was so hard when he died. You think you’re ready. But you can never really prepare for it.”

  “Did Maurice live on a farm?” Althea said.

  “Not a farm, but a large property on the water, with lots of good hiking trails. The property was rugged, a lot of rock. Anyway, a few days after Albert’s funeral, you were with Maurice and I went walking and it rained. It was a warm drizzle and the fog came in, very thick. Kind of like walking around in a gothic horror novel. I’ve always liked extreme weather, so I didn’t mind. Albert used to say I was like a primitive explorer.”

  “I remember that,” Althea said.

  “I don’t know if you remember this, but Maurice’s property has some fantastic views. Some of the drop-offs are rock, and some of them are sloped and green. But that day there was rain and fog and I couldn’t see a thing. The path was a slippery mess and my mind, of course, was elsewhere.

  “At one point — I don’t know how long I’d been out there — I felt a pressure on my chest, like a hand stopping me, and I smelled pipe smoke. So I stopped walking. Then there was another hand on my shoulder, turning me around, and a kiss on my neck, just the way he used to —”

  Althea hadn’t heard this part of the story before.

  “When the hand turned me around, I moved with it, though I had no idea which direction I was facing. The hand disappeared and I started walking again, this time in the direction it wanted me to go. Eventually, I made it back to the house. I was gone almost seven hours. Maurice was frantic. I told him what happened.

  The next week, Maurice told me that he was out on his trails and saw my dried footprints leading up to the edge of a precipice, then around, like I was walking in a circle. I believe Albert was protecting me that night.”

  Althea regarded her mother carefully. “Has he ever come back to you that way since then? Tried to communicate with you?”

  “No, not since then. I’ve asked, but no he hasn’t.”

  chapter 42

  SOPHIE SAT ON HER bedroom floor, meditating. As she breathed, she noticed that the temperature in the room was slowly becoming warmer. Beside her, Princess was curled up in a ball on a flap of overturned rug, which Sophie had pulled to one side to expose wood inlay: the ancient pattern, circles upon circles. In the center of the circular design, Sophie had placed a ceramic bowl with pinched sides, a piece that Althea had made in art class. Across its mouth lay a stick of incense, the spicy smoke swirling.

  Sophie knew it was time because tonight, she had been shown. When she found him, he was at his computer. She tried to get closer, to see if she knew him. When she tried, his image blurred. When she relaxed, his image returned. Though she could not see his face, she watched him as he looked intently at a photograph which Sophie recognized.

  At that moment, Sophie knew that the connection had been made, and that now she was free to undertake the most critical part of her plan. Though she was excited, it was harder than she had imagined. But Sophie had no intention of stopping now.

  She had also received another sign. This week, after six months of waiting, she received a letter in the mail. A letter of confirmation. When she opened the envelope, she experienced the electric shock of recognition at the graceful, even handwriting, and her heart soared. It had been so long since she’d seen this writing. Despite the nature of their last contact decades before, she knew this person well: their faith, their strength, their depth of honor, the only living soul who understood Sophie’s secret heart. The only person who could sabotage Sophie’s plan, and simultaneously the only person Sophie could trust.

  • • •

  ALTHEA WAS LYING ON her back just this side of sleep, her right arm curled over her eyes, which felt sticky as if they were coated in warm molasses. Her nose was stuffed, and when she breathed in using her mouth, she tasted sweetness, li
ke vanilla-sugared water. Her body felt heavy. She tried to sit up and couldn’t. A dry feathery touch traced the underside of her right foot, and the laugh followed, gentle and rolling.

  “Open your eyes, sweet girl,” Albert said. Her head felt as if it was dissolving into everything around it, without direction, without gravity. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Albert sat perched a few inches above the foot of her bed. He was smiling at her and his brown eyes twinkled.

  “I’m almost used to it,” she said.

  His voice sounded normal, but her voice sounded thick and hollow. Albert smiled, and his face lit up like a thousand white lights. As he spoke, she was fascinated by his hands, which looked as brown and rough as she remembered. He had one hand resting on her ankle, as if she anchored him to the earth. Once and a while, he’d pat her gently, when he wanted to make a point.

  “Yeah, girl, you are. You’re not ticklish any more.”

  “How are you.”

  “Well, me, I’m fine wee one, but I’m not here for me.”

  “For me?” Althea’s voice had taken on a child-like lilt, like small pink bubbles rising through warm syrup.

  “You got it sugar. Your momma’s gonna drop something big on you soon, something that I had something to do with, something that’s bendin’ the rules.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, honey, I’m not allowed to tell you that, but I am allowed to say that Sophie loves to the bottom of her shoes ... and that’s what you gotta remember. She’s not goin’ about it in all the right ways right now, but even so, it’ll all work out.”

  At Albert’s words, Althea felt comforted, cradled, as if nothing could harm her. She felt no fear, just a bright warmth, which grew inside her, ready to burst. A beautiful round light. Like the moon.

  “Okay.”

  “Well, I know it feels okay right now, this place, it’s more than okay, it’s better than bein’ home, you know? But you gotta go back in a while, and when you’re there, you may not remember me bein’ here tonight, or you might, that’s up to you. But if you only remember one thing, honey, I want you to remember that if you need me, you can call me anytime, okay? I’m not the only one rootin’ for you girl, there’s help all around you.”

  “Like where?”

  Albert looked away and nodded, as if consulting someone.

  “All around you, all the time, some you know and some you don’t. There’s one you’ve seen and you’re gonna meet again. You gotta get close to this one, you gotta let him in, know him. He wants you to. And deep down, so do you.”

  “It’s like a riddle.”

  “That’s right, it’s like a riddle hon, I’m singin’ in riddles here, because I’m getting the old nod from the boys. Just enough, they’re sayin’ to me, not too much, just enough.”

  “You’re funny.”

  “And you’re stronger than you think, girl. It’s all inside you, wanting out, remember that.”

  “Mmmmmm.”

  Althea smiled broadly at Albert, and he moved his warm fingers over her face, touching her eyes which tingled, and under her chin as she sank into tender, dreamless grey, and then Albert was gone, and she could smell His powdery sweetness Soon and felt His eyes glowing green, the curve of His lips and His long blue-black hair slipping on her shoulder as he kissed her cheek, her neck, shaping himself against her body, which sighed and arched, following her into slumber.

  chapter 43

  “I’M GOING ON VACATION,” Sophie announced, getting up to pour Althea a coffee.

  “Really? For how long?”

  “A few days.”

  “Where to?”

  “New Orleans.”

  “You getting a hankering for live jazz all of a sudden? In their hottest season of the year?”

  “Something like that.” A finger of apprehension plucked at Althea’s chest. Althea couldn’t remember Sophie ever going on a holiday.

  “What’s the attraction? You going on a tour?”

  “No, I have a friend there.”

  “I didn’t know you kept in touch with anyone there.”

  “This is the only one. An old friend of Albert’s and mine.”

  “Huh. When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “That’s fast.” Too fast. Sophie turned away as she poured herself a coffee, spooning in some brown sugar, and stirring. She wasn’t offering any more information. Althea knew that it was useless to push. Althea sighed.

  “Do you need a ride to the airport?”

  “Yes. And tonight, I’d like to take you out to dinner. Something grand.”

  • • •

  ALTHEA CHOSE STARFISH FOR dinner, her favorite downtown oyster bar. They settled into their seats at the bar, and asked their waiter Carlos to recommend a good bottle of white wine. The room shimmered under the glow of ivory candles. A fusion of jazz and dance music played softly in the background — Saint Germain, Althea recognized. She and Celia used to call it martini music.

  Starfish was small, elegant and relaxing. Behind the bar, Starfish owner Patrick lined up three-dozen oysters. He was practicing for an oyster shucking competition in Ireland.

  “How do they evaluate you?” Althea asked.

  “It’s a combination of speed and presentation,” he said. “Will you do the honors?” He handed Althea a stopwatch.

  “Sure, ready? One, two, three — go.” She hit the timer. He started shucking. He was incredibly fast. And each oyster was neatly done, good enough to eat.

  “Done.” His hands flew up. Althea clicked the stopwatch and Sophie clapped. Carlos asked Sophie to test the wine, a cool, lemony Muscadet, and when she nodded in approval, he poured them both a glass. Althea raised hers.

  “Well Sophie, consider tonight a warm up for New Orleans. You’ll eat a ton of oysters, but the bonus will be that in New Orleans, they’ll be one quarter the price than they are in Toronto.” Sophie laughed.

  “That’s true,” Sophie said, raising her glass in return.

  As an appetizer, they ate small, creamy-sweet kumamoto oysters with champagne and shallot dressing, and larger ones from Martha’s Vineyard. Althea also ordered some scallops with seared foie gras and crème fraiche, and nibbled on some fresh multi-grain bread.

  “I was in New Orleans the first time I had oysters. It was Mardi Gras,” Althea said. “Five bucks a dozen. We started every meal with two dozen oysters, just for starters. It was awesome.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  “Him?”

  “Kevin?” For the first time in years, Althea gave the question some thought.

  “I miss the idea of Kevin.”

  “Do you think you were soul mates?” Here we go again, Althea thought.

  “I don’t know, before everything happened, we were best friends. At least I thought we were.”

  “If you don’t know, then you probably weren’t.”

  Sophie’s bluntness shocked her.

  “Were you and Albert soul mates?”

  “No, we weren’t.” Sophie answered. “We were friends and companions and we helped each other. But soul mates, we were not.”

  “How do you know that?”

  The silence was heavy. Althea wanted to ask about her father. Her brother. She said nothing. Sophie sipped her wine, and watched Patrick place a single raw scallop on ice in a martini glass, for someone’s dessert.

  “When you meet a soul mate Althea, it’s intense, unstoppable, a feeling that reaches the core of who you are. When you lose that person, it’s like losing a part of yourself. I’ve known that once, that kind of love and that kind of pain. And, no, it wasn’t Albert.”

  “Was it my father?” Sophie sipped her wine, looking away. Althea tried again.

  “Did Albert know him?”

  “Yes. And one other person. Didn’t know everything, but knew enough.” Althea had an idea.

  “The friend you’re visiting?”

  “Yes.” Althea waited and Sophie didn’t elaborate. She wondered if t
here was a man in New Orleans waiting for Sophie. She hadn’t been involved with anyone seriously since Albert.

  “I don’t know if meeting someone like that is in the cards for me Sophie. I really don’t. And if not, then I’ll just have to accept it.” Althea felt her stomach fall at her own words, a reaction to the belief that she held in her unconscious, but which she had never articulated out loud until now. Her entire body felt an aching sadness, a pulling down. Carlos re-filled her wine and she braced herself for another of Sophie’s monologues.

  Instead, Sophie shrugged.

  “When you want him, you’ll ask. When you find him, you’ll know. And I know you’ll find him. I know that. And not only that, it’ll be sooner than you think. And when that happens, your heart will open up in ways you can’t imagine.” Sophie excused herself to go to the ladies room. Patrick served the scallops. She stabbed one with a fork, and tried it, the sweetness of the scallop perfectly paired with the richness of the foie gras and tart crème fraiche. An unbelievably delicious and decadent combination.

  Althea sipped her wine, and glanced down the bar, her eyes slowing when she recognized a slim woman with jet black hair and coffee colored skin. Ivana. I never called her back. Shame wound into her stomach. The woman turned, and caught Althea staring. Not Ivana. Althea looked away.

  You’re not alone. Remember that. A voice she knew. Althea looked down and tried to calm herself. Inside, she could feel the fear again, a prickle on the roof of her mouth moving down her shoulders to her hands. As she fixed on the wine glass in her hand, the mirrored reflection behind the bar blurred, a luminescent patina. The floor pulsed softly, pulling at her, and the sound of her own heartbeat filled her ears. A scream rose as she saw the reflection of the smooth grey figure behind her, its hand on her arm, wanting to dance.

  Not real. She stared at her wine glass, her panic rising, bitter and dry on her tongue. She bit the inside of her cheek, drawing blood, the pain reviving her.

  Sophie was walking toward her. With shaking hands, Althea moved to put her glass of wine on the bar. The wine glass and its contents toppled over, shattering on the polished wooden floor.