California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances

by Casey Dawes

  As she passed Crystal Visions, the local mystic shop, the smell of patchouli oil snagged her attention. A sign in the crystal-filled window stated, “The psychic is in.” She shook her head and continued her purposeful stride to the ocean.

  When she got to the bench, she sat and opened the pizza box, savoring the sweet aroma of oregano and crushed tomatoes. The gooey cheese almost slid off her slice, but she nabbed it with her forefinger, willing to suffer the sting of heat for the succulent combination.

  She and David had always had cheese pizza when they came down here for their weekly jaunts before her son became a teenager and declared his dissatisfaction with all things Mom-organized. She’d kept a supply of plastic pails to build fragile sandcastles and a shovel so David could attempt to dig to Asia when the mood struck him.

  Sighing, Annie took a bite of pizza. Letting the warm flavors fill her mouth, she thought about the sign she’d seen at the Crystal Visions. She wondered what a psychic reading would be like.

  Her slices of pizza finished, she walked toward her car, aware there was still plenty of time before she had to pick up David. She passed the bookstore, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the plate glass window. Sea air had made her hair curl haphazardly around her face. She looked crazy enough to be someone who went to a psychic. Why not?

  The tinkle of small chimes announced her arrival. She made her way back through the candle-cluttered shop to the cashier and paid for her session.

  Instead of the henna-haired woman with flowing robes that she’d pictured, the psychic was a trim, middle-aged brunette with glasses who was dressed in neutral tailored slacks and blouse. Annie seated herself at the small round table and waited to be told what to do.

  “Your first time with a psychic?” the woman asked.

  Annie nodded.

  “And you don’t really believe, do you?”

  “Not really.”

  “That’s fine. My name is Patricia. I believe I have a gift, but you don’t have to. You can use whatever I tell you however you want. Ready to begin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me hold your hands. Close your eyes and try to relax.”

  Annie did as she was told. She felt a tingling in her hands, but figured it was nerves.

  “You’re very troubled,” the woman began.

  No brainer there, Annie thought. Her face probably looked haggard.

  “And you’re taking good steps to work through it. A woman is in your life. She’s very capable. You’ll do well to trust her.”

  Annie almost opened her eyes. How the hell did she know about Carol? She heard the squeaks as the psychic shifted in her chair.

  “There’s another woman coming into your life. Someone who is close to you by blood. But you’ve never met her. She has something important to tell you.”

  Well, at least it’s not a tall dark stranger, Annie thought, cynicism returning full force.

  The psychic went on to talk about family and false lessons learned, but not much of it made sense to Annie. The fifteen minutes passed quickly and the woman told her to open her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little disoriented.” Annie blinked her eyes several times to remove the fog that seemed to surround her.

  “One more thing before you go,” the woman said. “I think you need to do two things to help you make the choices you need to make. The first is to find someone who does bodywork — your pain is buried deep in your tissues; you need assistance to release it. The second is to write out your life story.”

  “Okay,” Annie said, ready to agree to anything to end the session. She looked at her watch, trying to recapture reality and looked up to find the psychic looking intently at her. It’s like she can see my soul. No, that’s not possible. I don’t really believe in this.

  “I hope you get something to ease your pain,” the woman said, smiling gently. “I enjoyed meeting you. You have a lot to offer the world.”

  “Thanks.” Annie rushed from the store, anxious to escape the unfamiliar territory of tarot cards and multi-limbed Hindu Vishnus.

  After she picked up David, she slipped into jeans and tee-shirt and checked her personal e-mail. A note from Facebook caught her eye. Vaguely, she remembered setting up an account on the site, but didn’t spend much time there. Too many of her friends were hooked on games like Farmville and she wasn’t interested in their latest imaginary purchase.

  The note contained a friend request from Beverly Gerhard. Weird. Annie clicked through to view the request. The Facebook photo showed an older woman with slender features and a faint resemblance to her father. The only information given was that she lived in Georgia. Maybe she was a second cousin once removed — whatever that meant. She didn’t appear to be a stalker, but people lie on the Internet all the time. What the heck — time to live dangerously!

  Annie clicked the Accept button to access the rest of the information. She learned that Beverly had once been a modern dancer in New York, retiring to teach at the University of Georgia in Athens. She appeared to have lots of friends, but no other Gerhard relatives. Who was she? Another thought struck her. Could this be the relative the psychic had mentioned?

  A shiver ran from Annie’s head to her toes.

  It was after eleven P.M. in Georgia. She probably wouldn’t hear anything until the morning. Shrugging her shoulders, she put it out of her mind and checked through the rest of her e-mail.

  • • •

  At the appointed time Tuesday morning, Annie picked up the phone and called Carol. “I still haven’t heard from Jim about the job in New Jersey,” she told the coach. “I may not have to make this decision after all. I don’t know what I’ll do then. This is my only choice.”

  “Really?” Carol asked softly.

  “What other choices do you think I have?”

  “What could you do?”

  “Get fired.”

  “And then what?”

  “Go on unemployment until it runs out?”

  “And then what?” Carol asked again.

  “Go on welfare. Sell my house. Move in with my mother. Strike that last one,” Annie said. “I’m not moving in with my mother.”

  “But it is a choice.”

  “Not from where I’m standing.”

  Carol chuckled. “What else?”

  “I could look for a job. I could take a job singing torch songs at a local joint.” Now she laughed at the mental picture of draping her body over a grand piano and teasing the pianist with a pink boa.

  “And … ”

  “And I’d sing so hard I’d lose my voice and I’d take the pink boa and become a stripper, but they’d catch on that the body is too old so I’d have to get a shopping cart and become a bag lady.” Annie put her coffee cup down, suffused with laughter at the image of herself in a raggedy raincoat adorned with a pink boa.

  Carol waited until Annie’s laughter died down before she said, “The bag lady image is one most women carry in their heads. It rarely comes true, but most women spend their lives doing things they don’t want to do because of the idea. How much money do you need to live?”

  Annie told her. She knew the figure down to the penny.

  “Will unemployment cover it?”

  “No. And what about sending David to college?” Annie asked.

  “What about it?”

  “I can’t afford that if I don’t have a job.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “I think you have some time. Does he have a job?”

  Annie admitted that David didn’t. They brainstormed ways for David to help contribute to his college fund. Now that Fred was sober, Annie thought, maybe he could contribute, too.

  “Get David involved. Give him more control over his own life. He’
s growing up, Mom. You’ve done a great job being mama-bear up to now, but you need to teach him to find his own berries. I want to go back to one of the ideas you had earlier — singing for a living.”

  “You can’t be serious. I don’t thinking singing for a living is realistic. I’d never make the money I need to make.”

  “So … ”

  “So it’s a ridiculous idea.”

  “Have you enjoyed singing over the last few weeks?”

  Annie thought about singing in the shower and in the car. “It was strange, but I did have fun while I was doing it. I even looked for my old guitar. It’s in pretty good shape — needs new strings, but other than that, it’s playable.”

  “When are you getting new strings?”

  “What’s the point?”

  “Your resistance is interesting. What do you think will happen if you get strings for your guitar?”

  “I don’t know.” By now, Annie knew that Carol wasn’t going to accept that for an answer, so she began to think. Why hadn’t she gotten strings? “I guess, it would make it real.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “I’d find out how rusty I’ve gotten over the last fifteen years. I’d definitely have to build up new calluses.” Annie sighed, recalling the pain in her fingertips before the calluses had built up the first time. “I think,” she paused again as her voice choked. “I think, I’d find out how much I missed it — how much I missed me.” Tears stung her eyes. “I feel like a fool. I took a left turn and wound up selling out, just like my parents.”

  “No, you didn’t. Life is a balance between doing what you need to do to have food and shelter and attending to your spiritual and creative lives. It’s when we get too involved in one or the other that problems can occur. You were too busy gathering nuts and berries to take time for a good wallow in a mud bath. Perhaps it’s time to find a different bush, where the berries are easier to gather and you have time to play.”

  Carol’s soft words soothed her. Maybe it wasn’t too late for her.

  “But what do I do? I really need this job. Do I move to New Jersey? I’m sure they have guitar strings in New Jersey.”

  “I’m sure they do. And it’s a possibility. But you have to look at the whole picture. What else would you give up if you moved? You know that you’d lose the job and the security if you stay, but what do you lose if you go?”

  “My friends, my house, maybe my son,” she said, thinking about Fred’s subtle threat to go to court to prevent her from taking David out of state.

  “Is it worth it?” Carol asked.

  “Doesn’t sound like it, does it? Still, I may not have to make the decision. It’s taking a long time for Jim to offer the job. Maybe the director remembers I stepped on his foot and won’t let Jim hire me.”

  “I think you need to make the decision on your own, regardless of what Jim does. That way, you keep the power in your own hands. I have another assignment for you. I want you to create a list — at least fifty ways that you could earn money other than move to New Jersey. I don’t care how bizarre they are, in fact the more crazy they are, the better. I want you to get your creative juices flowing.”

  “All right,” Annie said doubtfully.

  “One more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Get the guitar strings.”

  Annie grinned. “Sounds like a great idea.”

  She hung up the phone, but it immediately rang again. The realtor.

  She wasn’t encouraging. When she found out how much Annie owed on her mortgage, she said, “You’re underwater. You can’t get that much for your house.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?”

  “See if your company will cough up the difference. They used to, but with this economy … ”

  “I suppose I could rent it out. How much could I get?”

  The realtor told her.

  “But that wouldn’t even cover my mortgage, never mind taxes or insurance.”

  “Check with your company,” the woman said. “It’s your best bet.”

  Annie was finishing up for the day when the phone rang. “Mrs. Renquist?” a raspy voice asked.

  “Gerhard.”

  “Are you David Renquist’s mother?” the voice asked impatiently.

  “What’s wrong? Who are you?’

  “This is Kathy Plum. I’m an administrator in the emergency room.”

  “What’s wrong? Is David okay? Is he hurt? I’ll be right there!”

  “Mrs. Renquist!” The woman’s commanding voice stopped Annie as she was about to hang up the phone.

  “What? I said I’d be right there.”

  “I heard you. But I need you to calm down.” The woman’s voice softened. “We don’t need you getting into an accident. I know you’re worried, but it’s not too bad. Your son was hit in the head during soccer. He’s a little bloody, but he’ll be okay. We need your permission to treat him.”

  “Where’s his father?” Fred was supposed to watch David play and bring him home.

  “He’s here, but since you’re the legal guardian, we need your permission.”

  “You’ve got it. I’ll be right down.”

  “Wait … ”

  Annie couldn’t wait any longer. I’m calm enough! She flung down the phone and flew out the door, not bothering to lock it. Her hands shook as she started the Prius and drove to Monterey Bay General. She ran the long distance from the parking lot to arrive breathless at the front desk.

  “My son, David Renquist,” she said to the plump woman in the first cubicle.

  The woman looked at the computer screen and slowly tapped a few keys. “Let’s see, Renquist.”

  Annie wanted to scream. What was taking this woman so long? Didn’t she understand the concept of “emergency room”?

  “Ah … there it is. They’re treating him now.” She reached for a stack of papers in the black plastic trays to her right. “We need you to fill out these forms. We’ll also need a copy of your insurance card.”

  “I want to see my son.”

  “They’re treating him. You can see him in a few minutes. Please sign here.” The woman tapped her pen on a line on the form she’d placed in front of Annie.

  Annie groaned, dug out her insurance card, and handed it to the woman. While the woman went to get the card copied, she scanned the insurance form and signed it. After several minutes, the woman returned with her card. She grabbed it and asked, “Where is he?”

  The clerk gestured to the swinging doors at the end of the waiting room. “Ask the nurse at the station which cubicle he’s in.”

  She didn’t wait to hear any further instructions, but pushed through the swinging doors. Hearing Fred’s voice rumbling from behind a curtained alcove on the left, she pawed at the fabric until she found the opening between the panels. She gasped when she saw her son. His bright green goalie shirt was streaked with blood.

  “What happened?”

  “He was accidently kicked in the head when he dove for the ball,” Fred said. “He passed out for a moment and they want to check him out. He’s got a mild concussion.”

  “So much blood.” She slid around to the side of the bed and stroked her son’s arm.

  “Head wound,” Fred said.

  David’s eyes fluttered open. “Hi, Mom. I made the save.” He grinned at her.

  “I’m sure you did, honey. Rest.”

  Her son closed his eyes. A short Latina nurse poked her head through the curtain slit. “I need to clean him up so you can take him home. Doctor will be with you in a moment to tell you how to take care of him. You can wait out here.” She drew the curtain aside and gestured for Fred and Annie to leave.

  Once outside the curtained room, Annie and Fred looked at each other, searching for the s
mall talk that used to come easily. After a few moments, Fred asked, “What are you going to do about your job?”

  “I haven’t heard anything. I don’t know if they’ll offer me the other position.”

  “You can move to New Jersey if you want,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But you aren’t taking my son anywhere.”

  “Fred, we’ll discuss this later.”

  “We’re discussing nothing later. That’s always been your way, telling me what to do. But now it’s going to stop. You aren’t ruling my life any more. And you aren’t ruling David’s. He’s staying with me.”

  “You can’t take care of him,” Annie said. “You can barely take care of yourself!”

  “That’s not true … ”

  “Stop arguing!” David’s voice came from behind the curtain.

  “Hush,” the nurse said. “Don’t get excited. It’s not good for you.” She poked her head out and glared at them. “Don’t you know better?” she hissed. “This is a hospital!”

  Annie felt her face flush red and she stared down at the floor.

  An Asian doctor walked up to them, clipboard in hand. He gave them a curious glance. “Which one of you will be taking care of him?”

  “I will,” Annie said. The doctor cut his eyes to Fred, who nodded.

  The doctor launched into his instructions. “Sign here.” He handed her the clipboard, tearing out a yellow copy of instructions for her when she returned it.

  David walked out from behind the curtain, face clean above the bloodied shirt, cleats in his hand. He glanced at them and turned on his heel to go out through the doors, his parents trailing behind.

  “I’m sorry,” Fred said after they put their son in the passenger seat. “It wasn’t the time or place to discuss it. But Annie, we do need to talk about this. You can’t keep going on making decisions for everyone else in your life, even if you think you’re right.”

  “I am right,” she said with a small grin, hoping to defuse the situation.

  “Not all the time.” Fred held her eyes. This was a new Fred, sober, stable and tenacious. She was going to have to deal with it.

  “Okay. Let me get through the next few days and then we’ll sit down and talk about it.”