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On an October Saturday morning in the energy room at the Charles, Mae spread her crystals on a side table in preparation for the last of three sessions. Between school, her campus job, and her healing work, she was constantly busy, but it felt good. It took her mind off problems with the people she loved. As a healer and as a personal trainer, she could make a difference in her clients’ lives; with Jamie and with the twins, she was stuck. Stuck and worried.
Jamie hadn’t dropped any more hints about starting a family, but he’d made another couch-surfing stop with a couple who had young children, and his craving for a life like theirs had still come through when he called. Mae’s children, meanwhile, had been to one family therapy session. The insurance coverage had finally kicked in and then it had taken time to get the appointment. So far, the girls didn’t like the counselor. Of course not. They liked Niall and Kate and Jamie. Why would they like a professional normal person?
Mae’s final client of the day arrived. The man filled the doorway with a genial but intense presence. His size and features reminded her of a cross between a tame bear and a friendly dog.
“Mae Martin.” He spoke in a dramatic baritone with a faint trace of a New York accent, clasping his hands in front of his crisp, loose-fitting white shirt. “My savior. I am so happy to meet you.” Was he being funny or was he that desperate to quit smoking? “I’m Sal Rexrode. My mother calls me Salvatore. My friends call me Rex.”
He was over six feet tall, broad-chested, with olive skin and puppy-dog eyes, a neat beard and thick, graying hair. Mae recognized him as a fellow lap swimmer at the town pool, one of those who rested between laps and chatted. She swam nonstop, so they’d never spoken until now. Mae shook his hand and invited him to sit and talk before the session. “I like to get to know my clients a little. It helps me work with them better.”
“Of course.” He perched on the edge of the table, one of his legs bouncing nervously. “That’s beautiful music.” Rex enunciated so clearly, Mae thought he should have been on radio. “It makes me a little less nervous.”
“I’m glad you like it.” She had one of Jamie’s old healing music albums playing with the volume down low. “I understand you’re here for help quitting smoking. You’re nervous about that?”
“Yes. I want to do it, but I’m terrified.” Rex leaned toward her. “Will I have withdrawal symptoms? Will I gain weight?” He was a few pounds overweight already, though he carried it well.
“Most of my clients don’t gain weight, only the ones who were too skinny to start with. I try to reach the addicted place, so you don’t end up replacing smoking with a new habit. You may feel a little forgetful or irritable, though. Your body will notice the lack of nicotine, but it shouldn’t be too bad. Not like quitting without a healer.”
Rex nodded. His leg was still vibrating. “I met a woman on Spiritual Singles dot com. We haven’t met in person yet. She loves my voice. She thinks I’m mellow. I’d hate to turn out to be fat and crabby.”
“I’m sure someone you met on Spiritual Singles will understand if you have a few withdrawal symptoms.”
“I hope so. I told her I’m going to quit before we meet. Will all my psychological garbage come up? All the things I’ve been smothering with my addiction?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I see events that might be the source of an addiction, but I don’t think the clients relive it. They say they feel something emotional happen, but it’s cleansing. Not unpleasant.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t matter even if it was. I’m going to have to face my garbage anyway.”
“It sounds like you have some other concerns besides smoking. Do you want me to work with anything else?”
“Not today. I’m going to a retreat for my other issues in a couple of weeks. My new friend told me about it. It’ll be our first date. I’d hoped she’d come down sooner and go out for karaoke—I like to sing—but this is what she wanted.”
A retreat for his other issues? How unromantic. Maybe that was what people who met on Spiritual Singles did on a date. Karaoke sounded like more fun, though. Mae had to ask, because of her client’s voice and diction, “Are you a trained singer?”
“Heavens, no. Just a retired salesman and a music lover.”
He looked to be in his mid-fifties. Rex had been a successful salesman if he’d retired that young. He should have been able to sell her on karaoke.
Mae asked Rex to lie down and relax to get ready for the healing, and closed the door so the room was lit only by the soft glow of the crystal lamps. She placed some of her crystals on his heart, his belly, and at the base of his throat. Certain ones such as amethyst were supposed to be good for releasing addictions, but she sensed that something else was required. Rex needed grounding, so she used red jasper as well, and clear quartz. She held another amethyst in her hand, one that her grandmother had used for healing and for enhancing the Sight. The silent guidance that came through it felt like her grandmother’s wisdom. Focusing on her breath, Mae emptied her mind to make way for the healing force.
Once she was tuned into Rex, she found a pattern in the region of his lower chakras that was entangled like a knot in a delicate silver chain. She sent energy into the knot, prodding gently, and it began to loosen. When the healing was underway, she did as Fiona had taught her, and held back. Rather than trying to complete the work for Rex, she watched and waited. The knot fell free, and she sensed a change in his inner body. He smiled.
With all the issues Rex thought he had, Mae had expected the process to be harder and messier. Sometimes during a healing, psychic journeys intruded, showing her the obstacles to healing or the roots of a problem, but his energy was clean and open, easy to move. Maybe he had less to deal with than he thought he did.
She closed the healing by bringing her hands to his head, waiting for a sense of closure, then held his feet until she received the same signal: it was okay to let go. Mae removed the crystals and put them in the pouch with others that needed rebalancing in sunlight or salt water, telling Rex, “You can take a minute to let it settle in.”
He sighed and folded his hands on his belly, still beaming. When he sat up, he started to speak, then seemed to think better of it. Slowly, he swung his feet down from the table.
“Was there something else?” Mae asked.
“You’re a medical intuitive?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure I want to know, but maybe I do. My doctor says I have emphysema, and I’m sure he’s right, but my last checkup didn’t show any signs of lung cancer, thank God. I want to believe I dodged that bullet. But that was six months ago.”
“Did you want me to check? I can’t diagnose anything but I can tell you if I see anything that your doctor should look at.”
“Let me think about it.” He slid his feet into old, scuffed loafers. “Are you going to the retreat that’s coming up at the Pelican Spa? They’re renting the whole Red Pelican part, with the private courtyard for music.”
“That’s with the Tibetan doctor, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going, but my boyfriend is doing the music. Jangarrai. That was his music you were listening to just now.”
“Then why aren’t you going?”
“School and work.”
“You should take the time off. My friend Posey says these people are wonderful. She lives in Santa Fe, where they’re from. This doctor can diagnose you just by feeling your pulse, and he works with an intuitive who can see your health status. Everything about you. Even your past lives.” Rex’s face lit up. “Posey wants to see if we knew each other. If we’re in the same soul group, it’s supposed to enhance our healing.”
This intuitive couldn’t be Sierra, could it? Jamie would never have agreed to work with her, and Mae had thoroughly checked out the web site for the retreat. It was called Vibrational Healing with Dr. Yeshi Ngarongsha and would feature Ku Nye massage, Yuk Cho stick therapy, healing and protection mantras, and other sound and music healing. There would be group sessions and private sessions, some of them optional. Dr. Ngarongsha talked about “seeing with the eyes of the Medicine Buddha” and his training in Sowa Rigpa, the Science of Healing. It appeared legitimate, if esoteric. There was nothing about past lives.
Then an uneasy thought crossed Mae’s mind. Sierra’s boyfriend was a middle-aged Asian man. Was he Dr. Yeshi Ngarongsha? If so, did he let his wacky girlfriend run part of his program? Twice, Rex had mentioned facing or bringing up his garbage.
Mae asked, “Is the intuitive named Sierra Mu?”
“Yes.” He appeared delighted. “You’ve heard of her?”
“I’ve ... I’ve met her.” Mae wondered if Rex noticed her lack of enthusiasm. She felt like she’d taken forever to come up with this vague reply, in her effort not to be negative. “What kind of healing does she say will happen with your soul group? Healing your ‘emotional garbage,’ or chronic illness, or what?”
“Both. You do one to heal the other. That’s one reason I wanted to stop smoking now, as well as to make a better impression on Posey. I shouldn’t still be smoking if I’m going to reverse the emphysema and ... I hope not cancer, but if I have it, maybe I could. Sierra healed herself of melanoma.”
Funny. She told us she’d had chemo. Or at least she’d hinted at it when she mentioned her short hair being new growth, not a fashion choice. Mae fought with herself, wanting to tell Rex every crazy thing she knew about Sierra. But the Tibetan doctor might be excellent despite his connection with her, and Mae didn’t want to discourage Rex from the retreat if Sierra had only a minor part in it. Maybe some of the optional sessions were with her. “That’s quite a claim, healing her cancer.”
“Her arthritis went into remission, too, when she dissolved the cancer. Posey has fibromyalgia, so she’s very excited about karmic healing. It would be wonderful if she could go into remission. And if I could breathe better.” Rex held his arms out as if being showered with applause and roses. “We could enter a new adventure together as new people.”
He dropped the pose, took Mae’s hand in both of his, thanked her, and started to leave, then paused in the doorway. “I have to decide about another appointment. We should probably do the medical intuition session before the retreat. I’m sure Sierra Mu could tell me, but I’d hate to be hit with bad news while I’m there. I’d rather have time to get used to it and start the retreat in a healing mindset.”
“That’s a good plan. If I did find anything, it would give you time to get another opinion from your doctor before the retreat, too.” Mae doubted Sierra would advise Rex to do that. She seemed to think she knew what people needed and that she should deliver it, ignoring Mary Kay’s and Fiona’s advice on ethics and scope of practice. “Make an appointment as soon as you decide. I only work Saturdays, and I get booked up fast.”
Rex departed. Mae was grateful he’d mentioned the retreat. She hoped Jamie’s gig with Dr. Ngarongsha wouldn’t end up being four days with Sierra.
––––––––
When Mae got home, she went through the trailer to the new sliding glass doors in the living room and laid the crystals she’d used on the back deck to be cleansed and rebalanced by the sun. She wanted to call Jamie about the retreat, but it was late morning, which meant he would be on the road. He avoided using his phone while driving, so she couldn’t talk to him until early evening Eastern Time. And that was assuming he arrived on time to settle into his hotel or couch-surfing stop.
Maybe it was just as well. Before talking to him about Sierra, Mae should know if Kate had gone back to the support group. She might have talked to the boyfriend if she had, and found out if he was in fact Yeshi Ngarongsha.
The weather was perfect and the view of Turtleback Mountain magnificent under a clear sky, but the deck wouldn’t be in full shade until later, and Mae was too white to sunbathe for even a few minutes without sunscreen. She went back through the house to the diminutive front porch with the view of the driveway, the corrugated metal laundry shed, and the neighbors’ garden wall. The sun-dodging move reminded her of Don’s guess that Sierra might have invented her medical history. Her fair skin looked as undamaged as Mae’s.
She called Kate. They took a few minutes to get caught up with each other, and then Mae asked about Sierra’s support group. Kate hadn’t returned.
“What’s crazy is that Sierra invited me to come back. She says they have ‘so much to offer me.’ I couldn’t see wasting my time, though. Bernadette only reviews businesses. This isn’t one.”
“It might be connected with one.” Mae brushed the ever-present pinkish desert dust off an old metal chair and sat down. “Did Sierra mention her boyfriend’s name, introduce him to you? There’s a Tibetan doctor running a retreat here in a couple of weeks, Yeshi Ngarongsha, and she may be part of it.”
“She didn’t introduce him, but when she called to invite me back, she cited him like some kind of authority. ‘Yeshi thinks you should come back, too.’ ”
“Shoot. It’s got to be the same man.”
“Okay, so that’s a business or at least commercial. But I still don’t know if Bernadette will want to review it. A retreat in T or C isn’t necessarily material for a column in the Santa Fe Reporter. And won’t necessarily be Sierra’s bullshit going on, either.”
“But it could be. And they’re from Santa Fe. And Jamie’s playing at Yeshi’s retreat. She’d ruin it for him. On top of that, I had a healing client today who’s going to it. He’s a nice guy and I don’t want Sierra to waste his time and money or make a fool of him. He met a woman in her support group online through Spiritual Singles, and he’s pretty excited about her. Posey. Their first date is the retreat in T or C.”
Kate groaned. “Posey. The ex-dog. She’s the most deluded person there. If your client has any sense, he’ll dump her as soon as he meets her.”
Mae suspected Rex was too romantic to do such a thing. But at least she could warn Jamie about Yeshi’s connection with Sierra.
Ahead of their appointed Skype time, she had her laptop ready on the yellow Formica kitchen table. She opened her anatomy textbook and notes to review for the next day’s class, but couldn’t concentrate on bones and ligaments. Instead, she thought about how she had seen her own so clearly in the workshop, and what she might see if Rex asked her to check his lungs. When she was a new psychic, unsure how to handle her gift, she’d seen cancer once. It had been like a small intense fire, totally unlike the normal tissues around it. Metabolic energy, like Mary Kay had said about seeing lights, only it was massed in one place, hungry and blazing. How fast could something like that show up? Rex’s doctor had said he was fine six months ago.
Mae returned to the chapter on the foot and ankle. As soon as she was finally absorbed in it, Jamie’s Skype call came through.
He appeared on screen shirtless, sitting in an armchair in black pajama-style pants, his thick mane of ash-blond hair disheveled. His long-limbed brown body, scarred from an accident-prone life, showed firm though not ripped muscles, and less of a belly than when he’d left in August. In some of their recent Skype calls, Mae had thought his bone structure looked more defined, his square jaw and wide cheekbones more prominent, but she hadn’t wanted to say anything about his weight loss in case he took it as either nagging him to lose more or worrying about his health. She’d asked him a few times if he’d gotten signs of cat scratch fever and he’d said to stop fussing about it.
They spent a moment smiling at each other, and then Jamie reached out toward the screen. Mae reached back, and they mimed hugs. He said, “Miss you.”
“I miss you, too. How was your last show?”
“Incredible.” He opened a Blue Sky vanilla cream soda, drank, and a small half-stifled belch escaped him. “Great audience. Had me dancing my arse off with ’em. I’m still buggered. Hip’s killing me. I miss swimming. Haven’t had a hotel with a pool for a week.”
“You been keeping up with your yoga?”
“Yeah.” Jamie wriggled deeper into his chair. “Touched my toes today.” He snort-laughed. “Probably helps that I can see ’em now.”
“You look good. Lost a few pounds. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, though.”
“Jeezus. You thought I’d get offended? Yeah, I probably would.” A louder laugh. “Been too tired to drink beer. Think that’s why I lost weight.”
“You’re drinking soda instead. It’s not exactly low-calorie.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t make me eat snacks, y’know? I drink beer, I eat.” He bent over, getting so close to the camera the tip of his goatee brushed the screen, and then he reappeared with his cat clutched to his chest. Gasser had not lost weight. The orange cat’s white belly was as vast as ever. “Say something, mate. Give Mae a little mew.”
Squeezed in his owner’s arms, Gasser squawked, and Jamie kissed him between the ears, spread him on his lap for petting, and beamed at Mae. “He was talking to ya.”
“I think you squashed him.”
“Nah. He likes you. Heard your voice.”
The cat didn’t like her at all, but she said an obligatory hello to him, supporting the illusion for now. Jamie loved his pet and depended on him as a therapy animal for anxiety. The fat cat’s lumpish laziness made him travel well, and his possessive devotion enabled him to endure Jamie’s hugging. That same devotion made him resent Mae.
“Two more weeks. Can’t wait.” Jamie squirm-danced in his chair and held Gasser’s front paws, rolling him onto his back and making him do a little tango. “Be great to see you for real.”
“It sure will.”
“Been working on my mate here so he’ll be nice to you.” Jamie put a hand at the cat’s heart-throat juncture and paused, apparently checking on something. “Probably won’t work, though. Dr. Don said you can’t heal people close to you. Jeezus. I just called Gasser ‘people.’ Parrots are more like people. Y’know I Skype them, too? Placido talks with me. First time Bouquet saw me on the screen she said, ‘Fuck me dead.’ Which was perfect, except it’s all she knows how to say.” Jamie turned the cat over and moved his hand to Gasser’s spine-tail joint. He held that position for a while, then looked up. “So how are you?” He focused intently on her. “What’s happened? Anything new?”
Could he tell she was tense about something? “I don’t want to freak you out, but I found out something you won’t like, about Yeshi Ngarongsha.”
Jamie drew his head back, frowning. “What? He seems all right to me. I’ve talked to him a few times, learned some chants. No wonder he wants me, Jeezus, bloke goes flat and sharp all over the place. Found out he actually taps you with a stick with this little egg-shaped beater-thing on the end, or a little bag of herbs. Hits you like a hundred times. Guess if you had a knot in a muscle it might help, but it’d drive me crazy. Yeah, short drive. Sorry. Drifting. What about him? Aside from the stick, he struck me as normal. Pun—struck me. Get it?”
“He’s Sierra’s boyfriend.”
Startled, Jamie spilled a splash of his drink on Gasser. “Fuck.” He vanished, leaving Gasser in his chair, and Mae found herself watching the fat cat struggle and fail to reach the spill with his tongue. Jamie returned with a damp washcloth and began to sponge his pet, muttering, “Bloody fucking hell. Bloody fucking hell.”
“Sugar—”
“I just washed him and dried him. He was all fluffy and he smelled nice.” Bending over the cat, Jamie dabbed, probed, and dabbed again. “I don’t want him to have any sticky spots.”
Mae waited. Jamie was so upset over getting soda on his cat, like a child whose toy had broken, that she suspected something else was bothering him—and it was not the mention of Sierra. Sierra provoked outrage, fury, contempt, not this fretting desperation. When he was satisfied with the state of Gasser’s fur, he put him down, spoke a few tender words to him, and took a gulp of soda.
“That was a big deal to you,” Mae said carefully, wondering if Jamie would explain.
“Sorry. I’m just so tired, y’know? I get moody.”
“Two more weeks.”
“Yeah. And then I’ll see you and ... Jeezus. Y’think he’ll have her at his retreat?”
Good. It finally sank in. “It sounds like he will. You should talk to him. Tell him how she acts around you— Oh. Never mind. He saw her at Bandstand. He knows. Tell him you don’t want her messing with your part of the retreat.”
“Right.” Jamie leaned back and closed his eyes. “Can you see it? I’m supposed to be doing healing music and she barges up and starts telling everybody I’m in her diseased soul group.” He rubbed his hands over his face and raked them into his hair, then sat in silence, clutching his braids.
“Jamie? Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He let go and sat up, gave her his brilliant gold-toothed smile, the version she recognized as an attempt to prove he was happy and normal. “No worries. Got to go, though. Do my yoga, warm up my voice, get ready for the show.”
Ending the call already? He normally wanted to hear about her work, her classes, how Marty and Niall were doing, and what she’d heard from her children, and then he would ramble until she reminded him of the time and the things he had to do. She let him go, though, wished him a good show, and urged him to call afterwards if he needed to talk.
“Nah. Let ya sleep.” Jamie blew her a kiss. “Hooroo, love. Catcha.”
Mae turned off her laptop and stared at the blank screen. Was he relapsing into depression? Fatigue was a symptom and Jamie had mentioned being tired twice. Still buggered from the other day’s show. So tired he was getting moody. He’d been doing well for over six months, but relapse was always a risk. Like the people in Sierra’s group, Jamie was averse to medication and wouldn’t take any, because of some bad experiences with it. He did his best to manage anxiety, depression, and ADHD in other ways.
Did Sierra know that about him? He’d talked publicly, at Spirit World Fair, about a suicidal reaction to antidepressants. If he was getting depressed again, he might not have the energy to handle her and her obsessive pressures about his chronic disease. He might not make the effort to call Yeshi, either.
Stop worrying. It was the end of a long tour, and Jamie worked incredibly hard onstage. He would be offended if he knew she was thinking of him as Jamie-the-sick-person. If anyone else was exhausted after that many weeks on the road, she wouldn’t worry. Telling herself not to underestimate Jamie, she went back to studying, but the conviction that something was wrong wouldn’t go away.