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Relieved that Mae had trusted him with the girls again, Jamie triple-checked the child safety seats in his van and then stopped, wondering if all the rocking and testing was making them less secure. They were only driving a few blocks. Nothing would go wrong. He turned, expecting to see the girls behind him, making impatient faces the way they did when he was fussing over something, but they were still on the porch, each with an ear pressed to the door.
“Come on. Stop eavesdropping.” They didn’t move, so he added, “That’s the word for when you don’t mind your own bizzo. Listen in on people.”
Slowly, they peeled away from the door and descended the stairs with heavy steps, stopping a few feet from the van. Stream gazed at the ground, while Brook looked up at Jamie, asking, “Are you still mad at Mama?”
“Nah. What made you think that?”
“You didn’t kiss or hug or anything.”
He leaned against the van, arms folded, his right hand tapping his left elbow. This was going to be complicated. “We’re working something out. Wouldn’t say we’re mad. Just, y’know, taking our time to solve a problem.”
Stream bit her lip and queried her sister with a look. Brook must have agreed in their silent way. Stream raised worried, mournful eyes to Jamie. “Jen and Daddy are mad at each other.” Her voice quivered. “That’s why he let us run away.”
“He tell you that?”
“No,” Brook said, “But they’re fighting so bad, Jen wouldn’t come home with him.”
How could their marriage have collapsed that fast? Maybe Jen needed space to think. If it was only a phase, Hubert wouldn’t want to worry the girls by telling them. “You shouldn’t have eavesdropped, darl. They need time to work things out—”
Stream began to cry. Brook squeezed her hand, and Jamie dropped to his knees on the gravel to hug them both. “Bloody hell, what did I say? I’m not mad at you.”
“You are,” Stream sobbed into his shoulder. “Everybody’s mad at us. Everybody fights because of us. We didn’t mean to make Jen and Daddy fight. And now you and Mama are fighting. We make—”
“You did not make us fight.” Jamie wanted to cry with her. Everyone had fought because of the children, but it wasn’t their fault. They were innocent. “Adults fight because we’re human, y’know? It’s just how people act.”
As he held them, their pain soaked into him, making him ache all the way to his bones. Finally, their energy shifted and softened, still sad but lighter. Jamie rose and adjusted Brook’s head-top ponytail so it stood up higher. “Come on. We need to shop. What kind of cookies do you want me to make?”
––––––––
Once they were in the store, Jamie sent the children to the produce aisle to pick out salad ingredients. “Meet you at the checkout. I’ll get what we need for cookies.”
It was better if they didn’t see him for a few minutes, in case he needed to do something embarrassing like sit on the floor, and he trusted them with the task. During their cross-country trip, he’d learned they were proud of liking vegetables, as if this made them superior to other children.
He cruised the baking section, light-headed and shaky, unable to tell if the cause was anxiety, exhaustion, hunger, illness, or all of the above. It had been another long day, harder even than the one before.
Cookies. Pay attention. You’re making cookies. Whole wheat flour. What else did he need? Mae had all-natural peanut butter on hand. Should he add dark chocolate chips? Ground peanuts? It was strange to be thinking about something so normal, so not-about-sickness-and-dying. Jamie hoisted a five-pound bag of whole wheat flour, then stalled out, staring at it. Mae didn’t bake. And he wouldn’t be back to do it for her, would he? With a pang of grieving, he returned the heavy bag to the shelf and chose the smallest.
He put a large jar of local honey in the shopping basket. He wanted agave nectar, but there was none on the shelf, and the honey would be useful even if Mae never cooked with it. Tea with honey was good for sore throats. Not that she ever got sick, as far as Jamie could tell, not even a cold, though she’d been through plenty of stress. Risk factors and all, illness still seemed so random, it was no wonder people believed Sierra.
She had been extra weird during the soul group gathering in the morning. Jamie and Rex had agreed in private that they would pretend they were still believers, but it had been hard. First, she’d spouted her usual stuff about abandoning ego-based “self-stories,” and confronting past life failings and remedying them. Then she claimed that Magda’s hospitalization had resulted from her refusing the healing and warned them that soul groups got closer and closer to the same death cycle with each incarnation because of quantum entanglement. If Jamie had still believed her ideas, he would have been terrified. Already worried about Magda, he’d have feared she could be dragging him to death with her. Was that what Sierra wanted?
Leon made an urgent plea for the group to pray for Magda. Sierra told him to pray in silence, and then she startled Jamie by praying aloud in gibberish. Leon and Posey regarded her with awe and bowed their heads.
Sierra’s nonsense syllables were similar to Tibetan, which to Jamie sounded like a cross between Sanskrit and Apache, but her words never matched the ones in the chants, and there should have been some overlap in sacred terminology. There was no repetition, no structure, no pattern in what she said. Did she pretend to speak Tibetan to impress people? When the group meeting ended, Jamie took Leon aside and asked what language that had been.
“The language of Mu.”
“Jeezus, you mean that lost continent, lost civilization stuff was about Mu?”
Leon smiled for the first time Jamie had ever seen. “You’ve heard of it?”
“Yeah. Dad’s an anthropology professor. I’ve heard of all sorts of things.” Jamie tried to keep his incredulity under wraps. “It was supposed to be like the Atlantis of the Pacific.”
“More important than Atlantis. The cultures of Atlantis, the Mayans, Easter Island, your ancestors in Australia, they all came from Mu.” Leon’s watery gray eyes searched Jamie’s, and his voice grew hushed and serious. “Do you ever feel you remember it?”
Of course not. “Do you?”
“A shadow of it. Yes. A longing.”
A memory of something that had never existed. A longing for a mistaken hypothesis. If only Jamie had put the Mu error together with Sierra’s name right away, he wouldn’t have believed her for a second, but Mae’s guesses about Greek letters or Chinese words had seemed logical, and then the twins’ Mrs. Moo jokes had made the name so ridiculous he’d never wondered again where it came from.
He could almost hear the children mooing. No, he could hear them mooing. Was Sierra in the store? Jamie hurried to the produce aisle. Brook and Stream were crouched behind a freestanding display of apples, mooing, “I kne-e-w yoooo when yoooo weren’t yooo and I’m Mrs. Mooooo.” Sierra stood just inside the entrance, staring toward the apples.
The basket felt heavy on Jamie’s arm. Trying to look disapproving, he signaled to the twins to be quiet. He couldn’t help wanting to laugh, though, and they seemed to know it, giggling as they obeyed.
“You got the salad?” Jamie asked.
They stood and Stream showed him what was in their basket. Leaf lettuce, baby zucchini, carrots, and cucumbers. “Is that enough? Mama doesn’t like tomatoes in salads.”
“Neither do I.” One of those odd things they agreed on. “They’re fruits, not vegetables.”
“Look out! Moo behind you!” Stream warned.
Sierra approached slowly, shaking her head with the pitying expression that Jamie hated. “You may mock my name, but we all remember Mu. Deep in our souls.” She met Jamie’s eyes. “You may not want to face it yet, but you will.”
“Yeah,” he lied. “You’re probably right. Give me time.”
“You don’t have much time.” She studied his shopping basket. “You shouldn’t get that big jar of honey.”
“Jeezus. You think I’m going to drop dead before I can bake some cookies?”
“When you’ve transcended your karma, you can eat anything you want, but your healing is in limbo right now. You should be careful.”
“What about you?” He remembered his encounter with her by the prairie dog town when he’d escaped from the bug museum. Not knowing he didn’t eat meat, she’d invited him to join her at Blake’s Lotaburger. “Once you’re healed, you can eat cheeseburgers?”
“Yes. Once you’ve transcended your issues, there’s no new karma. Not for the mind, not for the soul, not for the body. It’s a new level of being.” She removed the jar from his basket. “I’ll put this back for you.”
Jamie took it from her. “It’s in the recipe.”
“Sugar feeds cancer.”
Did she know? Jamie tried to focus on his breath, but his chest felt more crowded than ever. Dizzy, he turned to the twins and gave Stream his basket. “Take this to the checkout, darl. I’ll be there in a second.” He handed her his wallet. “Pay if I’m late, all right?”
If only Dr. Farrow hadn’t been so bloody informative. Jamie bent over, hands on his thighs like a winded runner, as he envisioned the string of lymph nodes winding past his bronchioles and his diaphragm like a chain, swelling, closing in on him. The crowded feeling in his chest was real, and knowing it added to his panic and anxiety.
“Are you having a wobbly?” Brook asked. “Should you lie down?”
“This is part of your healing,” Sierra said. “Face the fear.”
Jamie looked up. “Rack off and let me breathe.”
“Look what happened to Magda. Soul groups cycle together. Are you going to go backwards, too? Drag all of us with you?”
Stream whacked her grocery basket into Sierra’s kneecap. “Leave him alone.”
Sierra cried out in pain. Jamie tried to tell Stream not to hit, but no sound came out. Shoppers stared. Their voices echoed in his head. His vision was narrowing, going black at the edges and his heart was out of control, his breath too tight and fast. As he reached out to Stream, she put down the basket and took his hand. Then Brook hit Sierra in the other knee with the other basket, dropped it, and mooed long and loud, sneering and backing toward the door. Sierra gasped and strode after her.
Jamie lost consciousness, fading out on the thought that Mae would never let him take care of the children again.
*****
Hearing a soft rapping on the door of her suite, Kate put down her book and called, “It’s open.” She and Don had made plans to compare notes on their sessions with Yeshi, and he was right on time.
A chubby Indian youth entered instead. He was about twelve years old with brush-cut hair, round cheeks, and bright eyes. “Hi. Excuse me. I hope I have the right room. I’m Ezra Yahnaki. Is my godmother here? Bernadette Pena?”
“This is the right room, but she went to the hot spring baths for a soak. She should be back in a few minutes. Remember she’s Bernice Star Eagle here.”
“I will.” Ezra put down a scuffed suitcase with big flowers on it. “Jamie’s not in his room. I hope I’m not bothering you.”
“Not at all. It’s nice to meet you. Bernadette told me about you.” Kate introduced herself and Lobo, then called Jamie. His phone went to voicemail. She left a message asking him if he’d forgotten about his guest.
After she hung up, Ezra said, “I’m sorry. I should have explained. Jamie’s not late. Refugio, the guy I rode with, he was early.” He took a seat on the edge of the sofa, looking around. The room had red trim, classic Japanese prints on purple walls, and a ceramic Buddha on the end table. “I like this place. Can you catch me up on stuff I missed? Is that okay?” He watched his hands fidget together.
“Of course it’s okay. It’s not going to sound very appealing, though. I can’t believe you actually wanted to come to this.”
He glanced at her with a puzzled expression, as if there were nothing odd about a middle school boy being interested in Tibetan healing.
Kate continued. “Every morning, we have chanting at six thirty. Tibetan mantras. Way too early in my opinion. I hope you can stand it. At least we have Jamie leading the chants. His singing is the only thing that gets me out of bed.”
“I like to go running at six. But chants with Jamie would be good, too.”
The boy didn’t look like a runner. Kate pictured him chugging along at sunrise, liking it. It was almost as surprising as his interest in the retreat. “Then we meditate. Those of us that can stay awake.”
“Bernadette taught me to meditate. It’s like what Grandma has me do, except Grandma says I need to be outdoors, so I can listen.”
“Listen to what?”
Ezra shrugged. “Plants. Animals. Mountains.”
“Well, we listen to each other snore, mostly. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but a few people keep dozing off. After that, we get an educational talk. Yesterday it was about the Medicine Buddha seeing to or from the farthest mountain and feeling everybody’s pain, or maybe that was the bodhisattva. I don’t remember. This morning the lecture was supposed to be about the basic principles of Tibetan medicine, but then Sierra—she’s the retreat leader’s girlfriend—wanted to go wake up this lady who hadn’t shown up yet, and ... I guess I should back up. Has Jamie told you about Sierra?”
“Is she the reincarnation lady? The one who says you make yourself sick because of your karma?”
“That’s her. She was going to send Posey, this spacey little woman with the brains of a chipmunk, to go wake Magda up, but a doctor in the group told her not to. He said if Magda was back from the hospital, she’d need some rest. Sierra got angry that no one had told her Magda was in the hospital and asked Yeshi to postpone the lecture until tomorrow, because she needed extra time with her soul group. And he went off to make calls and see if he could learn anything about Magda.”
“Magda.” Ezra’s brows drew together. “I’ve only heard of one person called Magda. I hope it’s not her. Magda Stein?”
“I don’t know her last name. Who’s Magda Stein?”
He opened his suitcase and took out a mass market paperback, which he brought over to Kate. Afterworld, Book Two: High Desert. The cover showed an Indian pueblo near the crumbling ruins of a city. “This is a really cool science fiction series about what it’s like after global warming gets bad. It’s scary, all these plagues and famines, but the Native people who know how to do stuff like farming in the desert or hunting and gathering in swamps, they survive the floods and droughts and stuff. I think she should have put Apaches in it, because we’d know how to survive, at least some of us. Not my sisters, but I’d help them. I wrote Ms. Stein a letter about that and she answered me. She said she would put Apaches in a later book. In Book One they’re Seminoles. This one, they’re Pueblo Indians. The next one is about the Aboriginal people in Australia. I wonder if Jamie would like it. I haven’t read that one yet.”
“You’re quite a fan.”
Ezra blushed and ducked his chin, shy again after his burst of speech.
Kate opened the book to the about the author page in the back. Magda Stein lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico with her three cats. Her best-selling science fiction series, Preworld and Afterworld, are favorites with young adults all over the globe. The black-and-white picture was Magda from the support group, several years younger, healthier, and smiling.
“That’s her. I knew she was a writer, but I never asked what she wrote.”
Kate returned the book to Ezra. Holding it in both hands, he sank onto the sofa. “I hope she’ll be okay. I have to pray for her.”
The sincerity of his concern touched Kate. Sierra, Posey, and Leon knew Magda, and none of them had been sad. Upset, yes, but not as if they cared about her. Something else troubled them about her illness. The fact that Magda was a best-selling author troubled Kate. Sierra had her hooks in someone with a huge audience and perhaps a lot of money.
Ezra put the book in his suitcase and withdrew a small leather pouch and a bundle of dried plants. The smudge stick looked homemade, a mix of sage and juniper. “Excuse me. I have to find a quiet place.” He headed for the door.
“Are you allowed to go walking around at night by yourself?”
He bowed his head. “No.”
“I’d go with you, but I’m expecting someone. Let’s wait for Bernadette.”
“There’s a little rock garden in front of Jamie’s room. I’ll go pray there.” He paused, hand on the doorknob, and stood rubbing one shoe against the other. “I want to call my grandma to ask her to pray for Ms. Stein, too. Her prayers are strong. But I don’t have a phone. Bernadette would let me use hers.”
“Use mine.”
He made the call, thanked her, and left.
Waiting for Don and Bernadette, Kate looked up Magda Stein on the internet. Amazing. Someone she’d met and hardly noticed was famous. Maybe only teenagers and their parents knew about her, or people who read science fiction and fantasy. Magda had a fan page on Facebook and an unofficial one on a blog run by some fourteen-year-old girls. A news article from a Santa Fe paper mentioned that the popular author had been taken ill and hospitalized while attending a health retreat. The fan girls had linked that article to their site and organized a “positive vibrations chain,” sending Magda images of her recovery and her readers’ love.
And what kind of images was Sierra sending? Die and leave me your money?
*****
Mae turned the heat off under the soup and called Jamie. He could get carried away reading labels and fussing over small decisions, but even for him, shopping was taking too long. No answer. He could be on his way back, though, and he never had his phone on while he drove. She gave him five minutes, the time it would take to reach her house from Bullock’s. When he hadn’t shown up, she left him a message and began walking to the store. Her worry was probably overblown, but after his risky cross-country drive with the children, she felt as if Jamie was somehow due for a disaster. If he was only debating ingredients with his phone turned off and forgotten in the van, she might feel foolish, but it was better to be embarrassed than sorry.
The van was in the parking lot with its engine running. Mae couldn’t see Jamie in it and yet Sierra was banging on the driver’s door, shouting. “Come out, you—you—monster.”
People exiting the back of the store paused and gawked at her, but she was oblivious, out of control. Mae sprinted toward her, hollering her name.
The van inched forward and stopped. Mae’s heart was in her throat. Brook was in the driver’s seat.
As Mae caught up to her, Sierra staggered back, her big blue eyes wild and unfocused. Brook cut off the engine and rolled the window down. “Mrs. Moo chased me out of the store.”
“You chased my kid?” Mae fought the urge to grab Sierra and shake her. “And now you’re calling her a monster?”
Sierra rasped, “They mocked me.” The intensity of her outrage made no sense. Being teased by children shouldn’t drive a normal adult to this. “They hit me.”
What? The twins never hit people. Mae turned to Brook, “Did you?”
“She was being mean to Jamie.” Brook knelt on the seat to look at Mae straight on. “He had a wobbly. Mrs. Moo was nagging him and—”
Sierra’s voice shook. “I know who you are now. I recognize you.”
“From a past life?” Mae was incredulous. “You’re fighting with little kids because of past lives?”
Brook made a face Jamie would have been proud of, furious and snarling with a pointed tongue and crossed eyes.
As if the face had actually scared her, Sierra inhaled sharply. “Yeshi will help me. This fight has just begun.” She rushed off.
This was getting crazier by the minute. Did Sierra actually mean to bring Yeshi in on a fight with children? Mae wanted to follow her and ask why, but she had to take care of her girls and Jamie.
“Come on out, sweetie. We need to find Jamie and Stream.”
Brook unlocked the door and jumped out, then ran to the back of the van and crouched to stick the key in a hidden holder. “I was trying to drive home and get you but the van wouldn’t go. I put it in drive but it hardly moved.”
Mae took her hand and they hurried toward the store. “You shouldn’t try to drive.” She shuddered, grateful that the vehicle hadn’t been facing downhill. “You could’ve hurt yourself or run someone over. I’m telling Jamie to hide that key in a different place. And even if he doesn’t, you are never to drive anything other than your grampa’s four-wheeler ever again until you’re sixteen years old. Is that clear?”
“Even in an emergency?”
“In an emergency, you yell for help. And you don’t hit people.”
Brook reddened. “I’m sorry. We just wanted to take care of Jamie.”
“I know. Sometimes you have to if he has a panic attack, but Jamie’s a grown man and he doesn’t like people taking care of him too much. For something like Sierra nagging him, let him handle it. You don’t have to protect him.” If only Jamie could hear me. Mae might as well have been giving herself advice.
They entered the store, and Brook led Mae to the produce aisle. Jamie, surrounded by concerned, curious people, was sitting on the floor, leaning against the apple display. Stream was rubbing his shoulder and a man in a green apron squatted near him, talking softly.
As Mae approached, the man in the apron stood. Mae recognized him, though she didn’t know his name, and she could tell he recognized her as well. “Are you these girls’ mother?”
“Yes. And I’m so sorry they acted up in your store. I’ll make sure they never do that again.”
The man nodded and thanked her, then asked Jamie if he would be all right.
“Yeah. No worries.” Declining the man’s assistance, Jamie rose with the usual glitch in his hip but no unsteadiness, and the store employee moved on, dispersing the onlookers with encouragement to resume their shopping. Jamie looked at Mae defensively. “I didn’t pass out, y’know. Not for long, anyway.” He stroked Stream’s hair. “Thanks for staying with me, darl. Hate it when that happens, but ...” He rolled his shoulders and picked up the baskets. “So what is it, Mum? They been good or bad? Do they still get cookies?”
*****
“Sorry I’m running late.” Don paused in the doorway, glancing back into the nearly dark courtyard. “There was some drama worth watching.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Kate put her phone on the coffee table. She’d found a few more mentions of Magda, but no new information. “How dramatic was it?”
“Yeshi was low-key, but Sierra was off her rocker. She’s heading into their room now.” Don closed the door and lowered himself onto the couch. His gaze lit on the flowered suitcase. “Going somewhere?”
“It’s Bernadette’s godson’s. I guess it’s a hand-me-down.”
“Oh, the boy Jamie invited. I just met him a minute ago. Seems like an interesting kid.”
“He is. Tell me about the drama. I can’t imagine Ezra was part of it.”
“No. Sierra and Yeshi. He was on his way to their room carrying something—looked like take-out boxes from that Asian fusion place. Anyway, she came running through the back gate and rushed up to him, out of breath, and he said, ‘Where’s the wine?’ She kind of squeaked, ‘Wine? Do you know what happened to me? The demons are back. I saw them. How can we fight them?’ ”
Kate was at a loss for words. She’d been ready for some gossip about the retreat leaders having an argument. But seeing demons?
“Crazy, even for her, I know,” Don said. “Yeshi just asked her to unlock their door, though, like she’d had some perfectly normal reason to come back without the wine. She started whining that he had to come with her, that they had to talk to Jamie about the demons, but Yeshi said, ‘Let’s eat dinner first,’ and unlocked the door himself and went in. She kept on pacing around the courtyard.”
“What would Jamie have to do with demons? Unless she means metaphorical demons, like ‘fighting your demons.’ He’s got a few of those.”
“As do we all. Though his are a little more out in the open. I wondered about that myself, why she’d want to talk to him, so I went over to his room to warn him she might be on her way and see if he knew why. I didn’t find him, just Bernadette and the boy, talking on the bench outside his room. I gave them the message for him and came back. Sierra saw me come through the gate and finally seemed to snap out of her fit and went into the Loft.”
“Demons,” Kate mused, petting Lobo’s head. “When Sierra told me I’d been a pink river dolphin, she said the tribes along the Amazon and the Orinoco think these dolphins are demons or shapeshifters. And there were demons in the mandala in her kitchen. Do you think she believes in them?”
“Well, she said Chuck Brady was reincarnated from being a fairy. And Rex and Jamie say she claims her soul group met on Mu before it sank. It’s all so peculiar, why not add demons into the mix?”
“I thought the other stuff was just bullshit she made up to get followers and their money. But wanting to fight demons? That could mean she’s not lying.”
Don turned and pulled back the curtain, peering out into the courtyard. “Hmm. All’s quiet on the western front.” He let the curtain go. “Yeshi didn’t seem especially concerned. I wonder why. Is he used to her seeing demons? Is he patronizing her?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. They’re a weird couple. I can’t tell what kind of relationship they have. If they love each other, or if they’ve gone stale and just stay together anyway, or if they’re mostly a professional alliance, or what. Did you think they worked well together in your health reading?”
“Harmoniously, yes. Yeshi checked my pulse on one side and Sierra held the other hand and they chanted some mantras, and then she held her hands above my body and did a kind of scan. She saw sharpness and heat in my spine and he talked about imbalances in the earth and fire elements. Not bad for describing arthritis, but they didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.”
“I didn’t learn much from them, either.” Sierra had detected the predictable low bone density in Kate’s legs, though she didn’t describe it in medical terms. Yeshi had detected an excess of tripa or bile, which Kate took to mean her irritable temperament, hardly a revelation either. “They were accurate, though. After Sierra left, he prescribed this bland vegetarian diet I’d never follow—I don’t think I could live without meat or salt—but he did say that I should completely avoid alcohol, which was so correct, I had to wonder if I should at least cut back on some other things.”
“You could try it. It certainly wouldn’t be unhealthy. How did you like the massage?”
“He did the stick therapy. It was bizarre, but it released a lot of tension. I wish his chanting was better, though.”
“He did something different with me. A lot of supported movement as part of a full-body massage. Maybe he sees more of what we need than we give him credit for.”
“We’ll have to ask Bernadette what she thought.”
“Why are she and Ezra out by Jamie’s room? He can call when he gets in.”
“Ezra needed to go outside to pray.” Kate told Don about Magda and her fans. “Had you heard of her?”
“The titles of the series sound familiar. But this isn’t like Harry Potter. She’s not that big a phenomenon.”
“No, but she’s famous enough that her being in Sierra’s group bothers me. That could be a lot of money getting thrown away.”
“Maybe. But it could be going toward building a legitimate Tibetan healing center, for all we know.”
“You think he’ll put Sierra out back with the dog and run it without her? I doubt it.”
The door opened and Bernadette came in. “I know I’ve kept you waiting.” She picked up Ezra’s bag. “I’ll be back in a second, just putting this in Jamie’s room. He’s going over to Mae’s place for dinner.”
“Ezra is?” Kate asked.
“Yes. With Jamie. They came to pick him up. Apparently, Mae’s kids and Jamie had quite a run-in with Sierra in the grocery store.”
“Did she talk to them about demons? She wanted to find Jamie to warn him about them.”
Bernadette shook her head. “That woman gets stranger all the time. But no, it was a fight about Sierra harassing Jamie, and the children making fun of her name.” She left, letting the door hang ajar, the cool evening breeze blowing in.
Don rose and gazed out across the courtyard. “I’d like to go ask Sierra how she met demons on her way back from the grocery store. Or was it in the store? She ran back here without buying the wine ...”
Kate remembered the children mocking Sierra at Bandstand in August. “The twins have this chant they made up to tease her. They kind of moo it like cows. ‘I knew you when you weren’t you and I’m Mrs. Moo.’ ”
Don was silent for a moment, then closed the door. He looked at Kate. “You don’t think—no, that’s too wacked—she believes the children are the reincarnations of demons?”