After about fifteen minutes. Mrs. Reynolds came over and praised my work. She asked how I was feeling, and I had to admit it was the first time I’d felt relaxed in a while. Valerie stayed quiet, other than to provide pointers now and then.
Some students had moved away to chat as they stitched. Others were listening to music through earbuds. But the atmosphere was as Zen as if we’d been doing a yoga or meditation class.
I was surprised when the bell rang and it was time to go back to class. Mrs. Reynolds said we were allowed to stitch during class if that helped us stay calm and focused. She also mentioned that there were knitting and crocheting groups we could try if stitching wasn’t our thing.
At first, I was too embarrassed to stitch in class. But when the next French class rolled around, I saw Valerie stitching during the teacher’s explanation and followed suit. Within a week, I realized that stitching was not only great at staying calm, but I found it led to easy solutions to my school tasks.
Nonetheless, Nana was worried about me. She requested permission to take me out of school an extra week after March break. It had to go through Mom of course, but both the principal and the counsellor agreed. Since the semester ended in February, I wouldn’t miss anything major and could make it up when I got back.
Mom was seeing a therapist and, when she went back to work, she hired a part-time housekeeper. Nana assured me Mom was going to be okay and it was time for me to take a well-deserved break.
And that is why we were flying to Granada. Intent on providing me with a once-in-a-lifetime experience, Nana had enrolled us in a two-week walk to Santiago de Compostella. It was one of the Camino routes, a lesser know one called the Andalusian Camino.
I had at first been skeptical about Nana and me being able to walk the one hundred and sixty-three kilometres to Santiago, but when she showed me the pictures and mentioned the average temperature would be about fifteen degrees Celsius, I was in.
We were technically part of a group tour, but the Camino is known as something you do by yourself, for yourself. Walking with others wasn’t recommended as each might not have the same pace. I was pretty sure Nana was fitter than me and we’d be fine.
The route was divided into eleven stages. We had a set number of kilometres to do every day, which we completed at our own pace, and met up with the others at the day’s chosen accommodations. Once there, we could do our own thing, or join the group to visit the town, or for the nightly meal.
Nana had gotten us each a European SIM card so we could keep in touch with Mom and each other should we lose track of each other on the trail. After the first day, I understood why this was a good thing, and how it wasn’t a big deal to let a fifteen-year-old Canadian girl wander on her own in the south of Spain.
For one thing, there were few people on the Camino in March. For another, pilgrims—as those who walk the Way of Santiago were called—were treated with the utmost respect. Townspeople would offer food, water, or a place to rest along the way. And finally, because I was the only person in our group that was under sixty, I was now the mascot everyone wanted to keep an eye on. But at a safe, respectful distance.
I can’t say I had any big revelations on the way, no great spiritual awakening. However, I had never been so at peace, so in the moment, other than when I was stitching. There was nothing to do but walk and drink in the scenery. The Andalusian countryside was breathtaking. I had often seen pictures of Tuscany on the internet, but this was better.
Every day the number of kilometres increased a little. By day nine, we were averaging twenty kilometres a day and I barely noticed a difference. At the end of the day, I was happy to remove my shoes and put on my flip-flops. But I hadn’t gotten any blisters and I wasn’t sore or even tired when I woke up.
I took about a gazillion pictures and would upload the best ones to my Instagram account at night when we had access to Wi-Fi. I’d shoot a few extra ones to Mom via email but that was the scope of my screen-related activities.
When we finally reached Santiago, I couldn’t believe we had basically walked across Spain. We stayed an extra day there and visited Finistere where the zero-kilometre marker stood, called the end of the world.
The weather was cooler here, but I didn’t ever want to leave. I wanted to move to this little coastal village and swim in the sea every day. Alas, real life was calling, and I felt ready to conquer it.
I came home tan, rested, and fully infected with the travel bug. Nana promised we’d plan a special trip over the summer now that she knew I was such a great travel companion. I was so Zen, I easily caught up with all my schoolwork when I went back to school and it was only after my first exam, for which I had not nearly studied as much I was used to, that I saw that my whole life had changed. Whether it was the needlepoint or the Camino, there was no way I was going back to the old me.
Chapter 26
My hands felt empty when I returned to the yellow room. December smiled and gave me her needlepoint frame. Just holding it made me feel ecstatic. I would definitely look into this stitching thing. And I made a note to ask Nana to take me to Spain this summer. I had to do that trip for myself. I was just sitting there, all Zenlike when the Teacher appeared.
“Now that you’ve accessed everyone’s memories, we can assemble for the ritual,” she said.
For a minute there, I panicked. Ritual? Images from gothic movies from the nineties flooded my brain. I remembered I was at Clarity Castle then, and that it was probably only a group meditation around a circle of crystals.
I wasn’t that far off. The teacher took my hand and we immediately appeared in a windowless room in the basement. It was a circular room with twelve portraits of each of us hanging on the walls. September had painted them, and I frowned to see Writer scribbling in her notebook under the word March. As I made my way to stand in front of it the way the others had, I was about to remark on the error, but September only winked at me and told me to just go with it. I shrugged and let it go. This wasn’t about me, it was about April.
There was indeed a circle of crystals in the middle. The teacher, and what I assumed was her guide, went to stand inside careful not to disturb the perimeter. Once everyone was in place, the Guide invited April to join them in the circle. She was then asked to voice her intention.
“I would like to go back to the sixteenth of January. That’s when the newspapers said my dad and his colleagues were approached with the opportunity. I hope to convince him, with my precognition of events, not to do it and, if possible, have him convince the others no to do it either, or at least to steer clear of them should they proceed anyway,” she said.
“You are aware that your father and all other implicated have free will and that your intervention may not yield the desired results, that the current outcome may be the most advantageous one, and that you will have to deal with the new outcome, whatever it may be, is that correct?” asked the Guide.
April said yes. The Guide then faced each of us in turn and asked if we agreed with April’s intention. We all said yes. We were asked to come as close to the circle as possible without touching it and hold hands. April took her place among us. For a minute, I thought how creepy it was that I was standing in a circle with eleven—thirteen if you counted the Teacher and the Guide—of my lookalikes.
We joined hands and January shared a vision of the sixteenth of January. It was a Saturday. Mom had taken Penny to her swimming lessons. Dad and I were alone at home. It was the perfect time to have the initial discussion.
The floor seemed to vibrate a little. I felt heat coming from April’s hand on my right and then she was gone, my hand grasping air.
“Did it work?” I blurted out. I immediately apologized and put a hand on my mouth.
That broke the spell, and everyone stopped holding hands. The Teacher laughed and told me not to worry about it. Though it was a ritual, it wasn’t sacred or anything. It was more of a symbolic ritual whose purpose was to teach us the value of doing our homework, voicing
clear intentions, and taking responsibility for the consequences.
“April was successful in returning to the requested date. To know whether she accomplished her goal, you’ll need to search your memories of her reality. They will already have changed,” she said.
“As quick as that?” I asked. Then, I quickly added a “never mind” before she could remind me that past and present were illusions.
As everyone left, or I should say disappeared back into their lives, I asked the Teacher for a moment.
“You said this is a symbolic ritual. When can we make a jump back or forward in time, or in another timeline on our own?” I asked.
“Did you find a more suitable reality on your travels?” she asked with a smile.
“No, I’m just curious. As you predicted, I liked certain aspects of everyone’s lives and will be implementing a few changes in my own as a result,” I answered.
“Once you’ve implemented those changes and maintained a high vibration for a few months, you’ll be transferred to a group of six, then three, then two. After that, you’ll be on your own. How long you stay with each group will depend on the speed of your growth and the strength of your desires,” she said.
I nodded slowly at this. It was still a vague answer, but I guessed it meant I wasn’t going anywhere for the time being.
I pointed to my portrait. “What does September know about me that I don’t? Does this mean I become a writer?” I asked.
“There are two ways you can find out. The first is to ask September for a glimpse of your reality. The second is to just wait and see,” she said with a wink. Her smile made me think she was goading me.
“But doesn’t me seeing the portrait already put me on that path?” I asked. I was starting to get this whole time-space continuum thing. By knowing I would be a writer in the future, whether or not I saw a vision of it, the very idea would activate that aspect of my life. Sure, I got high marks in all my written assignments, both in French and English. But I’d never seen myself as a writer, per se. Then again, I’d never seen myself as anything, really.
“Remember that everyone has free will. If you don’t like the idea, you can choose another. But when asked what your skill was upon arrival, you answered ‘worrying.’ You can’t fault us for wanting to give you a nudge,” she said and gave me an actual nudge with her shoulder before leaving me alone in the ritual room.
I didn’t like the idea of staying alone in the basement of any building, let alone a castle.
But I wasn’t ready to wake up just yet, so I made an intention to go to the lake. It would be nice to sit alone on the bench and look at the water for as long as I wanted, and not worry about getting a sunburn.
Chapter 27
I woke up at home. Perhaps I had overstayed my welcome at the Castle. What day was it? My phone confirmed that it’s Sunday and a little past nine in the morning. I sniffed the air. Bacon. And waffles!
I abandoned my phone without checking the feeds and rushed out of my room.
“Good morning, honey,” said Mom, taking the bacon out of the oven. She barely had time to say, “you’re just in time!” when the smoke alarm started to wail. I grabbed the piece of cardboard we kept on hand for just this purpose and waved it at the offending device. Once quieted, I went over to give Mom our good morning hug.
“Smells good,” I said and headed for the bathroom.
When I came out, she’d set the table and we had our feast.
“Did you see Nana’s first pictures from Casablanca?” she asked, sipping her coffee.
“No, I fell like a log last night, and the smell of waffles distracted me this morning. I’ll check after breakfast,” I replied.
Mom refused to make pancakes, waffles, or any kind of baking unless I helped with the dishes. She’d been busy while I slept. She had made muffins and cookies for the week and there was a mountain of bowls and pans waiting for us.
My child labour completed, I went to my room to check on the feeds and plan that bike ride for after lunch. Mel had beaten me to it. We were all set for a one o’clock meet-up at the lake.
I hit the books for the rest of the morning, had lunch, and set out for fun with my friends. Meanwhile, Mom went hiking with a friend. She said she wanted to make the most of it before they closes the trails for mud season. With the warm temperatures, the ice and snow were melting more rapidly this year.
When I got home around four, she wasn’t back. She must have gotten a ride from her friend because the car was in the drive. I checked the weekly menu and saw she had salmon planned for tonight. That was easy enough. I pre-heated the oven, sprinkled some maple-chipotle seasoning on the salmon, and started on the salad while the fish was baking.
When I heard a car door, I peeked out the kitchen window to see if it was Mom or another delivery. Mom was really into online shopping. I saw Mom, but she was not alone. It was Mom and a dude!
It must have been a date because the guy leapt out of the car and made a mad dash around to open Mom’s door. He was moving so fast, I couldn’t get a good look at his face. She must have been anticipating this because she took her time gathering her things. When he opened the door for her, Mom blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl. I mean, I couldn’t hear her, but I knew what a giggle looked like.
When she was out, he opened the back door and grabbed her water pack. There was an awkward moment when she tried to take it from him, and he simultaneously tried to place it on her shoulders. I laughed out loud then hid in case they’d heard me.
When I rose up to spy on them some more, they were out of my line of sight. Within minutes, Mom was walking into the house and Romeo’s car was pulling out of the driveway.
The oven was beeping, and I grabbed the mittens. Mom quickly removed her shoes and ran to fan the smoke detector as I opened the oven door.
“Honey, you made dinner?” she asked, kissing my temple. “I’m starving. Sorry I’m late, it was so nice we took the long way down the mountain,” she said, washing her hands and carrying the plates to the table.
I waited until we’d sat down to eat before grilling her.
“So… What’s his name?” I asked innocently.
“Whose name?” she asked, just as innocently.
“The dude, Mom!” I said, laughing at the face she was making. I could tell she was torn. She wanted to tell me about the date because it had just happened and she needed to tell someone about it. On the other hand, the Perfect Parent Handbook clearly stated you should discuss your love life with your kids only when it was serious enough to introduce them to a potential life partner.
“Mom, I’m almost sixteen. Most of my friends are dating or have boyfriends. I can handle you telling me about a hiking date!” I said, trying to keep a straight face.
She took a huge bite of her salad and chewed for a really long time. Then she took a long sip of wine. I was dying to know, and my leg started to shake impatiently under the table. What if his name was Simon? Would he die in an accident? The ski season was over, but there was always mountain biking, rock climbing, or base jumping! Mom liked outdoorsy types. Well, this one did. The alternate versions of her clearly had a wide range of types.
Finally, she put her glass down and said, “his name is Gary.”
It took everything I had not to jump up and down on the spot or whoop with joy. I was, however, unable to hide a smile. I had to focus. It might not be him.
“What does he do?” I asked in a singsong, pumping my eyebrows.
She laughed and resumed eating. “He’s a staff photographer for a company that publishes a dozen or so trade magazines,” she said.
Holy Guacamole! It was him. It was my Gary. Our Gary. I was so excited I had to excuse myself and go to the bathroom where I promptly danced a celebratory gigue and pumped my arms in the air as if I’d just score a touchdown. Yes, yes, yes!
I flushed, washed my hands and came back to the dinner table where, as nonchalantly as I could, I asked, “how did you meet?”
> “It’s the funniest thing. You know that dating app you’ve been at me to join? Well, Michelle has also been bugging me to join. So I did, just to shut her up. The app lets you know if you have friends in common and I like that feature. It’s kind of like getting references for a job interview,” she said.
It was just like Mom to look at dating like a human resource project.
“Anyway, Gary is friends with Michelle! So, I ask her what’s wrong with Gary? Why hadn’t she tried setting me up with him before? She’d introduced me to every single male in her vicinity until now. Why stop there?”
We’d finished dinner and Mom suggested we made smores for dessert out by the fire pit. While we were putting the dishes into the dishwasher, I said, “and then?”
“She said she hadn’t known Gary was single. He’d been dating another woman as far as she knew,” Mom replied.
“No!” I said.
“So, Michelle asked her husband about it. Gary is his friend. It turned out they had broken up just after Christmas and Michelle’s husband hadn’t thought to mention it.”
We went out with the ingredients and Mom got the fire started. We sat in the chairs and waited for it to light fully.
“Wow! And how long have you been dating? It can’t have been long unless you’ve been sneaky about it,” I asked.
“This was our second date. Or I should say our first real date. The first one we only met for coffee to see if we liked each other in real life. He was on assignment in the Townships this week, and I had a break between interviews, so we made it happen,” she explained.
I started putting marshmallows on my double roasting stick while Mom started separating the crackers and the chocolate bar and divided them onto our plates.
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