ON ENTERING VERONICA’S room the next morning using the spare keycard she’d given me, I found her sitting on the floor next to her bed, knees pulled up to her chest, forehead resting on her knees, still wearing her pink sweats. It looked like a tornado had touched down on her bed and ripped through the rest of the room, hurling clothes, shoes, and decorative pillows in all directions. Her sheets and blankets formed a twisted heap on the center of the mattress. Her suitcase lay open in the middle of the floor. Messy, sloppy. This girl needed a personal maid. Or an intervention.
I picked up two pillows and put them on one of the armchairs facing the unlit fireplace. Her knee-to-chest pose was one of low spirits rather than one taught in a basic yoga class. “Hey, Sis.” Our roles had apparently reversed. The mention of contacting our father had drained Veronica of her strength and activated mine.
“He’s in Pacific Grove,” she said.
“Pacific Grove,” I echoed, caught off guard by her comment. Who is?”
She lifted her head with the slightly disoriented look of someone who just woke up. Her gaze tracked my face as though she expected me to read her mind.
“Who’s in Pacific Grove?” I asked.
“Our father.”
My knees began to buckle. I sat on the bed. Was he tall? Was he short? Was he handsome? “So, does that mean I finally get to meet him?”
“If you want to,” she said, her voice throaty, raw.
“Want to? Of course, I want to.” He’s part of who I am.
“I knew you’d react that way.”
“Jeez, Veronica, I’ve been looking forward to this day... No, dreaming of this day, since...since—”
Veronica held up her hand. “Hold it.”
Why was she acting this way? There was obviously bad news ahead. And since it concerned Veronica, and my father, it concerned me.
“He’s an alcoholic,” she said.
She might as well have doused me with ice water, the way my body went into chill mode. “How bad?”
“It’s affecting his health.”
“Cirrhosis?”
“Not that I know of, although I wouldn’t be surprised. He looks a lot older than he is. He’s thin and his skin...”
I stood, walked over to the door leading to the exterior deck, and opened it. A refreshing, pine-scented breeze rushed in, along with the singing of songbirds, the hammering of woodpeckers, and the harsh cackling of crows in a spirited forest symphony. However, the light was dim, due to the cloud of vapor that drifted and swirled through the neighboring redwood forest as though pumped in by a portable fog machine. I turned my attention back to Veronica and the cheerless room. “We need to help him.”
Veronica picked up a pillow and punched it with her fist. “Don’t you think my step-mother and I have tried? You have no idea what we’ve been through. And are still going through. He’s a disaster.”
“I’m so sorry.”
After a brooding silence, Veronica said, “I think it all goes back to feelings of guilt. Of what he did to Antonia, to you, and to my stepmother.”
“And to you,” I said.
Veronica hesitated, then seemed to decide on something. “I’ve tried to detach myself from him, you know, keep an emotional distance. But he keeps pushing my buttons and hanging on. I can’t make him go away. He follows me, Marjorie. At least when he’s sober enough. It’s amazing how much he can accomplish while under the influence.”
“Why?”
“Beats me. Maybe he still thinks I’m his little girl, kind of like with you and your adoptive mother, Truus.” She dropped her face into her hands. “It’s as if he perceives me as his personal property and that his every wish is my command. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
Her words echoed my words to Morgan and Anne less than two weeks ago—a lifetime ago. I’d felt then as Veronica did now, as if I were in a spiritual black hole in which everything solid was vaporizing. She was in darkness, and seeing her this way broke my heart. It also pointed me toward a new purpose as I neared the end of my journey along the second path of the Native American Medicine Wheel. No more wasting my life energy on judgment and blame. No more idling in neutral, distant and emotionally uninvolved. No more wallowing in the anesthetizing fog of disconnection and a closed heart. In Big Sur, the land of my mother’s people, I had retrieved a part of myself that I’d forgotten, and now I would use that part of myself not only to fulfill her strange request to meet with my father, but to support Veronica in her search for the light. “Does he know where you are?”
“He knows that I’m applying with the DEA.”
I drew up the blinds covering the windows facing the deck. No brilliant burst of sun light, but light just the same. Softened by fog. “How?”
Veronica’s laugh sounded hollow. “He’s quite the detective when he puts his fuzzy mind to it. Plus, he doesn’t have anything better to do.”
My chest ached at the sight of my sister, my hero, sitting there, back bowed, sinking into the feelings she’d been trying to outrun, searching for a way out of what our mother had asked us to do. But our mother must’ve had a reason. And we’d promised.
“Do you still want to meet him?” Veronica asked.
“Yes,” I said. I couldn’t keep waiting for more knowledge and more skills. I couldn’t wait for more support from the world. “It’s what our mother wants.”
When Veronica didn’t reply, I added, “We’ll share the burden.”
~~~
The morning fog had lifted, but the sky over Anne’s campsite looked unsettled. Long, flat-topped clouds with the appearance of blacksmith’s anvils were forming overhead.
Anne followed my gaze and stated the obvious, “Thunderclouds.”
“Bring them on,” Veronica said before plopping down next to Anne on her yoga mat. Then in a voice without the slightest inflection, my sister began telling her about our father.
Anne listened, sighed, and nodded, but said little, as though the best thing to do at this point was to sit with the information, hurt, and anger Veronica was sharing and allow for the mud to settle.
How strange. At times, while Veronica was describing herself—her rigid self-sufficiency and perfectionism, her avoidance of close relationships, her intolerance of uncertainty and change, and her inability to express emotion—she could’ve been describing me. Yet, the father who had raised me had been kind, supportive, and addicted only to love. What was it that shaped us as individuals? Events? People? Circumstances? Heredity? Or did our “shaping” have more to do with how we reacted to our yesterdays and used them as a foundation for our tomorrows? Could the clay of our past still respond to the molding of our hands and minds, as long as we kept it wet and fluid and didn’t expose it to the fiery temperatures of judgment and guilt? Could we use our history to our advantage, instead of allowing it to get in the way?
When Veronica finished, Anne said, “You’ve just taken the most difficult step in the healing process of what you’ve been through. Openly identifying the problem and talking about your sadness and anger. Well done.”
“You can thank my shoulder angel for that,” Veronica said with a quick tilt of her head in my direction. “She drove me to it.”
“Yeah, Marjorie has that effect on people,” Anne said with a grimace. “So, how about we take a look at the flip side of what you’ve just shared? From what your sister told me and the little I’ve observed since meeting you, you’re not afraid of other people and authority. You don’t depend on others to tell you who you are. You stand up for yourself. And you’ve just done a darn good job of unburying your feelings and expressing your emotions. In other words, you’ve been through a lot and prevailed. That’s what I call progress.”
“Thanks, counselor,” Veronica said. “Are you implying that my father made me who I am.”
“Strong and powerful,” I said.
Veronica chuckled. “Love you, too, Sis. I’m addicted to danger and excitement, which gives me the feeling of control. Maybe that’s what you see when you think of me as strong and powerful. I’m the daughter of an alcoholic, who has let me down so many times, I’ve lost count. Forgive me if I don’t look forward to seeing him again, let alone introduce him to someone precious to me, who I don’t want to share. Discovering that I had a sister was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I won’t stand by and watch my father destroy her, too.”
Precious? Best thing that ever happened to her? I was so shocked by what Veronica was saying that I couldn’t speak.
Anne smiled, her eyes reassuring. “Marjorie’s stronger than you give her credit for.”
“Yeah,” Veronica said. She demonstrated that when we were stuck in that cave in the Los Padres National Forest. Wow. You should see her in action.”
I felt like a fly on the wall listening to a conversation that was making my head spin. Don’t stop now, Veronica.
“The situation you’re labeling as bad might hold a deeper good,” Anne said. “Challenges often become opportunities.”
Veronica shot her a look that matched the stormy clouds above.
“Anne may be right,” I said, finally finding my voice. I felt antsy, as I had in Veronica’s room, wanting to wash windows, scrub floors, run a mile. Instead, I took a seat on one of Anne’s wobbly camp stools, which had about as much stability as one of those animal spring riders you find on park playgrounds and, therefore, did little to offset my fidgety mood. “She’s given me some sage advice a time or two.”
My sister looked unconvinced. “Elizabeth and I have lived with Bob’s illness for years. We’ve tried everything and, as far as I’m concerned, exhausted all possibilities. He’s a walking time bomb. If he doesn’t kill himself, he’ll kill someone else. In the meantime, he goes along his merry way, oblivious to the path of destruction he leaves behind.”
“Do you hate him?” I asked.
Veronica looked at me as if part of her were dying. “Yes. Sometimes I do.”
~~~
This would be my last hike before leaving Big Sur and heading for Pacific Grove to meet my father. I planned to make it a memorable one. I would stop often to look and listen. I would allow the silence to blanket me. I would pay attention to the space between the drip of the fog, the squawk of the crow, and the peck of the woodpecker. I would lean against trees, smell the perfume of their leaves, needles, and bark. I would put my toes in creeks and ponds. I would be there as fully as I could.
While I climbed the Mount Manuel Trail toward Vista Point, beyond, underneath, and above the shady oak woodlands and exposed chaparral, came the sight and smell of decaying leaves and decomposing matter. Death and life, hand-in-hand, one feeding the other.
I thought about how life kept rearranging itself, how it went on, and how we were dissolving at every moment. Leaving Adam and Anne behind would be a small death for me. There would be an empty space left inside. Maybe, with the right attitude, I could find peace in that space. Maybe I could make room there for my father and his secret.
Apparently, he had wasted twenty-eight years punishing himself for the mistake of falling in love with two women. So much pain and suffering over something that couldn’t be fixed. It had settled in his mind and caused him to decay from the inside out. And with him, he had dragged his wife and his daughter.
In many ways, I had been spared.
As I crested Vista Point, I noticed the strips of bare soil between the coastal shrub and grassland, otherwise known as bare zones. California sagebrush and black sage produce toxic chemicals that inhibit the germination and growth of the seedlings of competing plant species, sometimes even inhibiting the germination and growth of their own. Add to that the lack of sunlight, due to the dense canopy of their branches, and the area appeared uninhabitable indeed. I took in the sweeping 360-degree panoramic view extending across the entire Big Sur area. What had nature taught me about survival in the bare zones of life, the seemingly barren patches of the in-between? As I took another slow turn, scanning the Santa Lucia Mountains, the rugged coastline, and the sheer coastal cliffs, I decided it was time to find out.
~~~
Cecil, Claudia, Anne, Adam, Veronica, and I settled on logs in a circle around the campfire in what was left of Adam’s camp. It was dusk and almost everything, except for the tents and sleeping bags, had been packed away for the group exodus to Los Angeles.
I glanced at Cecil, who sat at my side. From the start, I’d disliked his strut, his wisecracks, his unapologetic display of wealth, and the way he lived and acted from a place of inner authority. I had misjudged him. He and I were more alike than different, and were ultimately seeking the same thing—he with the massive chrome headlight of his Harley lighting the way, and me weighed down by the stuffed cargo hold of my Jeep. Cecil’s inner strength, his money, his connections, his ability to live life out loud would serve his father well during the last chapters of his life. I hated to admit it, but since Cecil and I had let down our surface barriers, with the purpose of helping Adam, we had connected in some inexplicable way. I thought of Holly, Kate, Jennifer, Claudia, Adam, Anne, Veronica, and, yes, even Buster, each a traveler on the road of life, each a teacher, each a messenger.
Cecil poked me in the side and presented me with a wide grin. “I’m returning your sculpture.”
Sculpture? With the turbulence generated by Adam’s disappearance, Antonia’s strange request, and news of my father, I’d forgotten all about it. Like Adam’s ring of keys, the sculpture now served as a symbol of what had once mattered: a useless possession, something that would only weigh me down.
Cecil laughed. “Cat got your tongue?”
I opened my mouth to speak, then thought better of it. What could I say? He’d paid $10,000 for my sculpture and was offering it back to me. Too late. I no longer cared.
“I’d like to see it,” Veronica said, perking up at the news. “It must be something special, for Cecil to steal it. Right?”
“Actually, it’s rather coarse and amateurish,” Cecil said.
I felt myself bristle, but said nothing. He was right. I’d been dabbling with clay, untrained in the medium, unaware of what I was doing.
“But the darn thing hit me in the gut,” Cecil said. “Either Marjorie got lucky, or I have exceptionally bad taste in art.”
Everyone laughed. Except me. “I really hated you, Cecil.”
“He hated himself,” Claudia said, her voice soft, but sharply focused. A simple acknowledgment and acceptance of fact. It occurred to me that she accepted Cecil for who he was without the need to change him. How amazing was that? What I’d perceived as needy clinging and insecurity on her part was in fact a sign of her unwavering support. Her love, like the light of the sun, was not selective. She, the silent watcher, was possibly the most enlightened among us.
Cecil gave her a swift look and lifted his brow. “I know it sounds crazy, but I was trying to turn a mystery into something material, something I could own and control. Your sculpture was like a porthole into the unknown, Marjorie, into which I wanted to take a peek. It had nothing to do with workmanship.”
A flash of lightning, lit up the sky with a sheet of light.
“Maybe it was God speaking to you,” Claudia ventured.
Go Claudia.
Cecil gave a mirthless laugh. “I don’t believe in God.”
Buster whined, followed by the clap and rumble of thunder, bringing to mind the sharp inhale and extended sigh of nature.
“Guess this is as good a time as any to start on a new path,” Anne said into the sudden silence.
“The old path brought me here,” Cecil said, “but I know what you mean. It’s hard to understand, or accept, what I’ve experienced in the past weeks without believing in something.”
The warmth in Cecil’s eyes as he looked at Adam made me wonder if I’d ever look at my father in this way. Or would he be beyond reach, as Adam nearly was?
The blackened sky lit up with a flash of lightning, followed seconds later by another clap of thunder.
Odd, how often we gathered in darkness, only to experience light.
“Anyway,” Cecil said. “I’m pretty good at getting people to do what I want.” He shrugged and presented another of his smartass smiles. “That’s why I’m successful at my job.”
Yeah, using manipulation, control, and intimidation.
“Do you think you could use that special talent of yours to get someone to buy my sculpture?” I asked with an equally smartass smile.
Cecil, Claudia, Veronica, and Anne stared at me as though I were speaking a foreign language.
“Sell? What for?” Cecil asked.
“For Alzheimer’s research. Add to that the $10,000, minus commission fees you already paid me for it, and it’ll amount to a tidy sum.”
The collective sigh of approval that followed felt like a supportive wind behind my back. I looked at each member of our circle, sensing so much love that I felt I could fly.
“I could organize an auction,” Cecil said, rubbing his forehead with both hands, “which brings out peoples’ competitive spirit and their sense of fun and generosity.” He glanced at his father. “Maybe even Dad and Buster could help.”
Adam’s gaze settled on Cecil from the opposite side of the campfire like the touch of a butterfly, gossamer on steel, and I swear, even with only the illumination of the fire and moon, I glimpsed comprehension in his eyes.
Cecil frowned and shook his head. “It’ll take some doing. Actually, it’ll require a whole new frame of mind on my part. I’ll have to call in some markers in favor of a good cause, instead of my own pocketbook for a change. It’ll also take cooperation and trust. Not my forte, I’m afraid.” Cecil looked at Claudia, who squeezed his hand. “Guess you can say, the life I’ve been leading thus far has been rather stagnant when it comes to personal relationships.”
“You can bet your Harley boots on that one,” Veronica said. “You were in a foul state when I first met you, and, from what I understand, you nearly dragged your father down with you.”
The angry tone in Veronica’s voice, suggested that she was comparing Cecil to our father.
“And I have the opportunity to set things right again,” Cecil said.
He cocked his head and looked at Veronica with the sharp eye of the entertainment lawyer that Anne claimed him to be. “You and that sister of yours are like two sides of a coin, one side dark, the other light, each setting off the other, each necessary to form the whole.”
“Antonia implied that the circle isn’t yet complete,” I said, unable to shake off my mother’s words. Fallen Light. Ask your father about Fallen Light. You must complete the circle.
“Then ‘Fallen Light’ may be the center,” Anne said.