THE LOOK ON CECIL’S FACE when Veronica and I walked into Adam’s camp made me smile. I swear, his eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. “Holy crap, there’s two of you.”
“Double the trouble,” Veronica said as she surveyed the group sitting around the crackling fire. She nodded at Anne and Claudia before her gaze settled on Adam.
From Claudia’s rapt expression as she scrutinized my sister, it was obvious that she sensed Veronica’s power and strength. Sometimes I forget how truly commanding my twin is. “Veronica has some good news,” I said.
The attention already focused on my sister grew expectant. She shrugged. “All in the line of duty.”
I gave her an impatient nudge. “Tell them.”
“The DEA apprehended the delinquents who destroyed your campsite,” Veronica said, addressing Adam, “and were able to reclaim the head of one of your sculptures.”
Adam smiled at Veronica. Not, I assumed, because he understood what she was saying, but because she was directing her announcement to him.
“The sculpture appears to be of—”
“Antonia!” Adam said.
Veronica blinked, momentarily speechless.
“He thinks you’re Antonia,” I said.
“Who’s Antonia?” Cecil asked.
“Sorry,” Veronica said when she noticed the tears running down Cecil’s face. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
He held up his hand, shook his head. “Who’s Antonia?”
“Our mother,” I said.
“Your—”
“We’ll clue you in later,” I said, hesitant to clarify. There was a limit to the amount of information he and Claudia could be expected to absorb all at once. Especially when it came to the unexplainable.
“Would you care to accompany me to claim the property?” Veronica asked Cecil.
He wiped his eyes. “And bring it back here?”
“Marjorie thinks Adam might have used some kind of special clay for this piece and that maybe it can be fired,” Veronica said.
Anne pushed to a stand. “I’ll go along and check it out. If it’s salvageable, we can stop at the studio on the way back and keep it there for safekeeping.”
With that, Veronica, Cecil, and Anne were off, leaving Claudia, Adam, and me behind.
The camp was meticulously organized, the surroundings cool and serene. Insects buzzed, birds called, water flowed, and the scent of pine and fermenting soil carried in the breeze. Claudia took the opportunity to probe me with questions about my sister. Apparently, Veronica’s power and independence fascinated her. Like me, Claudia had spent far too many years under someone else’s thumb. The door to her cage stood open. She was perched at the threshold. Would she remember how to fly?
While Claudia and I talked, Adam moved to the grotto. We paused our conversation to check on him, only to find him sitting beneath a sheet of sunlight, facing the trickling pond, head bowed, as though worshipping at a shrine commemorating his encounter with God.
“I agree that being surrounded by nature is good for Adam,” Claudia said, “but Cecil can’t stay much longer. He has already stretched his away time to the limit. Turning off his phone was a novelty, but...”
“Does he need the money?” I asked, repeating my earlier question to Veronica.
“When it comes to money, and power, there’s never enough,” Claudia said.
“And there never will be.”
Claudia smiled. “I’m beginning to suspect that’s true. Cecil needs to keep adding to himself in order to be himself. He’s deathly afraid of losing. In his eyes, losing makes him less of a man.” She drew in a deep breath. “He’s wealthy, but when it comes to true wealth, he might as well be a pauper. It breaks my heart to see him look outside of himself for fulfillment and validation.” A quick glance at Adam. “What does all that money and power amount to in the end?”
“It may keep Adam out of a nursing home,” I said.
She gripped her hands together. “Yes, but for how long?”
I had no answer for that.
Adam turned to face us, a soundless acknowledgment of our presence. Claudia’s eyes filled with tears. “Cecil wants to take his father home.”
“That may be best,” I said.
“Cecil loves his father and is hurt, really hurt, by what he sees as Adam’s desertion. That he turned to Anne, a complete stranger, rather than to his own son during his time of need is, to Cecil, incomprehensible and unforgivable. Adam left behind a lot of unresolved emotional baggage, and, now it seems, it’s too late to do anything about it. Two, hard-headed men haven’t been able to break the wall of misunderstanding that separates them or express their love for each another.”
Talk about hard-headed, she could’ve been talking about my adoptive mother and me.
“Adam’s got a lovely place, you know. It’s too big for him now, but a lot can be done to rearrange things.” Claudia looked around for a moment, then continued, her voice lifting a notch. “We could build him a grotto like this one. He could keep Buster, even the tent.”
They would probably need a special permit to keep a coyote on the premises, but I didn’t say so. They’d figure that out for themselves soon enough. “Sounds ideal.”
“Yes, doesn’t it,” Claudia said.
~~~
Cecil returned with an announcement. “Anne says the sculpture of Antonia’s head can be fired, which means we’ll have one more reminder of Dad’s tremendous talent.”
“And love,” I said, wishing there was a way for Adam to express his deep affection for his son as he had only been able to do in his journal and through his art. I had a sense that the kindest thing we could do for him now was to help him say goodbye to his beloved son, and the kindest thing we could do for Cecil was to help him hear it.
Anne glanced from Claudia to me. “Why so down?”
Claudia shrugged. “We were just talking.”
“About Adam?” Cecil asked, a touch of irritation in his voice.
Claudia’s shoulders tensed. Was it habit for her to stiffen this way when Cecil frowned at her, or did she feel hesitant about expressing her opinion?
Silently, yet with all the energy I could muster, I urged her to speak up and share what was on her mind.
She looked at Cecil with a lift of her chin. “We’re worried about your father.”
“I’ve already discussed it with Anne,” Cecil said. “We’re taking him home.”
“I figured you would,” Claudia said, “and I think that’s a good idea, but... I think something has been left undone.”
Anne stood next to Adam, watching him play with Buster. “I agree.”
“Cecil,” I said. “There’s no doubt your father wants to be with you and that he’s not thinking clearly enough to see himself as a burden anymore. But something has changed in him, and I’m not sure he’ll get it back.”
“Maybe I could take him on a cruise to Alaska,” Cecil said. “He always wanted to see—”
“No,” Anne said.
“How about therapy? We can afford the best.”
Anne smiled, but shook her head.
“Then what?” he asked.
“How about we perform one of Anne’s rituals?” I said.
Everyone stared at me in silence. No problem. I was following my gut, letting it speak. “The problem with Adam is spiritual, right?”
“Yes,” Anne conceded.
“Then we need a spiritual solution.”
Silence.
“During my time at the Esalen Institute, our Gestalt workshop instructor said that when a group finds cohesion, magic occurs. By performing a ritual together, we could focus our collective attention on helping Adam resolve any internal conflicts he may have and allow for what’s most right, when it comes to his disease.”
After what felt like a long silence, Veronica said, “I’m the first to admit that the rituals Anne introduced me to during my stay here stretch my concept of reality. But if it helps Adam in some way, I’m in.”
“What kind of ritual?” Claudia asked.
Veronica laughed. “Girl, sometimes it’s best not to ask too many questions and just go with the flow.”
“Anne combines a variety of time-tested spiritual practices with roots in numerous religions,” I said, “which fit her unique sense of connection and which she’s now willing to share, if we’re willing to bypass our—”
“Anne’s a witch,” Veronica said, “who uses Wiccan rituals to open a crack in the door to our minds.”
Claudia brought her hand to her throat.
“The rituals Anne performs can help us send our wishes into the mental atmosphere that surrounds us,” I added, “which is receptive to our thoughts and meant to be used. In short, her rituals are a form of prayer.”
I couldn’t tell if Anne was amused or offended by Veronica and my quick summaries of the spiritual pathway that fed her soul.
“You don’t have to participate if you don’t want to,” she said. “And neither do you, Cecil.”
“Me?” Cecil said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
~~~
“Why witchcraft, when there are so many spiritual practices to choose from?” Claudia asked as we gathered around the campfire for our evening meal. Cecil had prepared a feast of baked potatoes, corn on the cob, and barbecued ribs.
“Why not witchcraft?” Anne countered as she filled up her plate.
Claudia straightened her shoulders and proceeded to present all the reasons why not, including how it was one of the least understood practices of our time.
Between mouthfuls of food and the waving of hands and plastic utensils, Anne and Claudia argued, debated, and eventually came back to, “Why not?”
“Okay,” Claudia said. “Do what you have to. I’ll participate through prayer.”
“Fair enough,” Anne said. “We’re all praying to the same Source, anyway. ‘When two or more are gathered in my name...’”
Claudia closed her eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Veronica laughed. “Believe.”