While I soaked in the tub, I thought back to what Dr. Mendez had told me about our final stop—that it had only been five miles from the Tassajara Hot Springs. We’d been closer to civilization than I had realized, and for this, I was grateful.
It felt good to be back.
In spite of all that happened, I would never regret my journey into that wilderness of mystery. For one thing, I got to know my sister. And what a remarkable sister she’d turned out to be. Despite her badass appearance and attitude, she was smart, strong, and working with the DEA. I recalled my suspicion and jealousy on seeing Veronica and Morgan together at the concert and again during the Ventana Wilderness tour. Of course, they’d been together. Of course, they’d been secretive. All made sense now. Each had been shouldering an enormous responsibility, complicated even further when Joshua and I arrived on the scene. They’d been trying to protect us, while I’d been busy harboring and feeding my doubts.
Yet in spite of suspecting my sister of dealing drugs and befriending criminals, I’d never stopped loving her. Thank goodness, I’d never stopped loving her. Had Ben been included in Veronica’s undercover ruse? Something told me he’d been in the dark, too. And, like me, he had loved her unconditionally.
My thoughts drifted to Joshua, which, as usual, inspired an inner softening. He was able to speak again and would have a family now, a good family, a loving family. My precious Joshua was going home.
I pulled a large towel from the bathroom rack and rubbed myself dry before making my way to Margarita’s mirror. I had lost weight since coming to Carmel Valley but appeared surprisingly fit. I searched my reflection for a trace of the power I’d felt while pretending to be my sister. I didn’t know how to define that power. Still don’t. Only that it exists and becomes available after you figure out what you want and are determined not to quit until you get it. For an instant, the image of Veronica stared back at me, and I pulled in my breath, pleased. The mirror revealed a new self that no longer caused me to turn away.
Like a fairy tale mirror, it had also revealed to me the man I loved and a family for which I hadn’t known I’d been searching: Margarita, Heather, and a fusion of Veronica and me—possibly even our mother. I had finally found the perfect mirror to fill the void above the mantel in my home.
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Bliss.
But the bliss didn’t last.
Barely had I settled into his embrace, and barely had I formulated the words to define how I felt—safe, comfortable, loved—when he broke the contact and tore his vital spirit from my grasp. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Go where?”
“To get Joshua.”
“Why?” All I wanted was to be back in his arms.
“It’s Easter Sunday.”
“So.”
“Remember the morning of the sunrise?”
“Yes,” I said, looking anywhere but at him. “How could I forget?”
He grinned. “Me, too.”
My face burned as I recalled the unfiltered stream of words that had unmasked my secret longings. But, apparently, that’s not what he was referring to. “I asked you to join me for Easter Mass.”
“There are no Masses at this hour.”
“There is now. My brother’s here.”
“Father John Phillip?”
“The one and only. I called him as soon as I was sure you and Joshua were safe, even before I called Mom and Dad.”
“He must have left Sacramento lickety-split,” I said.
“He was eager to meet his new nephew . . . and to reconnect with you. He figured we’d meet sooner or later but never guessed we’d get into such mischief.”
“How did your family deal with the news about Teri?”
“It was tough but not unexpected. We’ll finally have the chance to say good-bye.” Morgan paused, understandably shaken, but he composed himself quickly, something I’d come to love about him. “What they hadn’t expected was the gift of Joshua. Through him, Teri lives on. One reason for the special Mass.
“Another reason for the Mass is to give thanks for the miracle of you showing up in Joshua’s life at just the right moment, and for your safe return. We acknowledge and honor the part you played in finding our nephew and also for helping him speak again.”
“I exposed the child to danger. What if—”
“Let’s go,” Morgan said. “By now, Joshua should be rested and waiting.”
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I allowed myself to open to the inspired message offered by the Mass. My skin seemed to vaporize as if nothing were holding me together. Even my bones felt soft and elastic. Nostalgia welled in my throat as Father John Phillip recited the opening prayer, “. . . raise us up and renew our lives by the Spirit that is within us.” And then finally, as though a neural pathway had opened in my brain, I understood.
The Spirit was within us—within me.
A nudge to my side forced me to open my eyes and turn to Joshua. A glow of knowledge streamed from his eyes as if he’d opened a wisdom door and shared my new discovery.
He, too, understood.
“Please be seated,” Father John Phillip said, and although he proceeded to read comforting words from the Epistle and Gospel, when Morgan’s thigh brushed against mine, his presence took complete hold of my mind.
As if sensing the change in me, Joshua, too, edged closer. To my surprise, and relief, I didn’t feel constricted or confined. The motive, the intention, the impulse of my two companions, wasn’t one of control or ownership. This was different, this innocent yearning for warmth and understanding, this inexplicable urge to share comfort and love. I couldn’t fight what I’d been unconsciously hungering for all my life. Was giving and accepting love the missing piece to life’s puzzle? Was life’s mission to create rather than to fit in? Maybe what I needed was to wake up, rather than break free.
Father John Phillip stepped down from the altar and approached his nephew with a serotonin-inducing smile that no Twilight, My Space, or Ace of Spades drug could duplicate. “Joshua has found his family and found his voice, thanks to the Lord.” He blessed the child’s forehead with the sign of the cross and said, “May our Father in heaven speak through you, and may you never forget the power of silence. May you continue to watch and perceive, and may you continue to express your love by being a good listener.” He leaned forward and hugged the child. “Welcome home, Joshua.”
Father John Phillip then turned to me. “We give thanks for your safe return. May the Almighty continue to work through you in freeing others as you have freed Joshua.” He winked in typical John Phillip fashion before turning to the other participants in the Mass. “Now let us join in prayer for our sister, Teri, and our brother, Paul. May their souls rest in peace.”
“Amen.”
Father John Phillip returned to the altar, and we stood for the Profession of Faith. Later, when I approached the altar for Communion, I not only partook of the bread— “. . . which earth has given and human hands have made. It will become for us the bread of life.” —but also the wine— “. . . fruit of the vine and work of human hands. It will become our spiritual drink.” Something I’d resisted doing for too long as just another thing church authorities were telling me to do. After experiencing the mysteries of Medicine Wheel in my search for understanding, I now appreciated the importance of fully experiencing the rituals offered by the church of my upbringing as well.
Bread and wine, symbols of forgiveness and love; mysteries to give our lives new purpose.
After Mass, Veronica and Ben joined hands, lifting this Easter Sunday up another notch on my perfect-day meter. I liked and respected Ben and would never forget his kind, gentle way.
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The adults and children at the home had been all the family Joshua had known until recently. Would it be hard for him to leave them behind?
Joshua dove onto his bed and plowed beneath his covers. “Do I have any boy cousins?”
Morgan laughed. “So much for saying good-bye.”
He knelt next to the bed and rested his arms on both sides of the child. “Yes, you have two cousins, Todd and Jon, and they’re eager to meet you.”
“Mom and Dad used to call me Josh,” Joshua said.
Morgan’s brows shot up in mock surprise. “Umm . . . seems to me I’ve already referred to you as Josh a time or two.”
“Can I use both names?” I asked. “Sometimes I need to call you Joshua.”
“I like it when you call me Joshua.”
I tucked the blankets around the child as best I could and sat at the foot of the bed. “Do you want your mouse totem back?”
He shook his head, his eyes solemn in his former non-speaking way. “I have Gabriel and my new family, but you’re all alone . . .”
The cat purred, evidencing a marvelous expression of contentment he’d never expressed before.
“Mommy said to be patient,” Joshua said, “but does that mean you’ll be gone for a long time?”
I couldn’t answer.
“You’re the only one who heard me when I couldn’t talk,” Joshua said. “And you gave me your magic ring.”
I’d gotten so used to his silence that I had some adjusting to do. “Not magic, exactly,” I said, although if he believed the ring had special powers, it probably did and would likely continue to do so as long as his faith held.
“You also gave me my best friend ever.”
The cat, no longer mute or one of the homeless, purred his loud contentment. After our escape from the cave, Morgan had told me that Gabriel had sneaked past Jake and Tommy Boy and entered the cave—sort of like a canary in a coal mine to check for danger—and when he didn’t return, Morgan knew for certain Joshua and I were inside. “The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” he’d admitted, “was to wait for an opportunity to come to your rescue. When I heard the shots, I thought I was too late.”
“I have a family now,” Joshua said, “but I still love you best.”
While the two most precious men in my life waited for me to pull myself together, I struggled for words. “I’ll never leave you, Joshua, not in my heart, but I will be gone for a while.”
His eyelids dropped, and he stifled a yawn. “That’s okay, I’ll wait.”
“Time to go,” Morgan said.
“I don’t think I have the strength to leave him.”
“You have to,” Morgan said.
I hated those words, upset with Morgan for saying them, but knew them to be true.
“Marjorie?” Joshua whispered, barely able to keep his eyes open. “Mommy said your real name is Sunwalker. It’s the name your mommy gave you.”
We both stared at the child, at a loss for words.
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I reached for Morgan’s hand and wondered if he would also be capable of listening—and hearing—when I shared my plans with him the following day. And even if he did listen, and even if he did hear, would he understand?