Our arrival in Phoenix was weird; apparently, yet another advantage of flying in a private jet is that you get to use an airport’s secret spaces and hidden routes to help you reach your limousine, so you’re through, out, and whisked off without having to mix with more than a dozen people – which was a real treat. We settled into our delightful suite at the swanky hotel Serendipity and her parents had arranged for us, and unpacked the surprising number of things we’d need for our one-night stay. Despite the fact we’d been sitting in the lap of luxury all day, we both decided we’d like to put our feet up for a bit; there’s nothing quite like being propped up on a hotel bed late in the afternoon, watching TV, seeing the sun go down, and knowing you haven’t a single responsibility to fulfill for over a week – though Bud had texted Jack to make sure Marty had settled in, and was being a good boy. He had, and was.
Eventually we made our way down to dinner; Bud and I chattered happily as we surrendered ourselves to an admittedly over-indulgent meal of mouth-watering buttermilk fried mushrooms, luxurious duck and goat cheese enchiladas, and delicious smoked brisket tacos, which were much juicier than I’d expected – leading to a bit of a kerfuffle when I managed to dribble all over my bosom. The annoyance I felt about the greasy stain I’d made on my blouse had passed by the time we agreed to share a slice of moist, yielding cheesecake, and some not-too-sweet cherry bread pudding, served with glistening, rich chocolate ice cream. It was a more than hearty meal, absolutely in line with the Wild West inspired décor of the restaurant, and the “cowboy cuisine” theme of the menu. We both knew that a stroll before bed would give us a chance to let it all settle, besides, it was a delight to wander the downtown streets needing no more than a wrap over my bare arms. We passed enough people as we wandered to easily spot those – like us – for whom the temperature was wonderfully balmy, as well as locals who seemed to be bundled up well enough to overnight at the base camp on Everest.
Finally back in our sumptuous room, we flopped into bed, with me having made sure to put the Tums on the bathroom counter. Just as I was dropping off, my phone started to buzz. I debated ignoring it, but gave in, put the lamp on and read the text, which was from Serendipity.
Pushing back opening. Don’t panic! Norman will meet you as planned tomorrow. Linda’s death has affected us all in unexpected ways. Just wanted you to know. See you soon, Sx
Bud was snoring beside me, and there seemed little point in waking him. I texted back that we’d be happy to fall in with whatever plans needed to be made, or changed, but turned off the lamp feeling a little less comfortable than I had. I couldn’t help but wonder what Serendipity had meant by Linda’s death having made an unexpected impact. I wasn’t sure of the closeness of the relationship between Serendipity and Linda – I’d sort of assumed that, as the leader of the entire Faceting for Life movement, Linda would be a somewhat distant figure. But, possibly, if she’d been the one to give the green light for the restaurant, she and Serendipity had been closer than I’d imagined. Or maybe not, given that Serendipity hadn’t initially foreseen the need to postpone her opening.
Bud stirred, shifted about a bit, then resumed normal snoring service. What he’d said at dinner had been right – the day had possessed a dreamlike quality, as though we’d been living the lives of other people. Rich people. And it had been a real eye-opener; how different the world of travel must be for those with unlimited budgets. I drifted off to sleep, where I enjoyed private islands, butlers, and a splendid room at a “money is no object” boutique resort in the Sonoran Desert, where – at least in my dreams – they brought me breakfast in bed, with a view of a perfect sunrise from our secluded quarters.
In the morning, the idea of breakfast in bed lingered, so we ordered room service. I’ve never been keen on actually eating in bed – you’re bound to get crumbs on the pillows and sheets, which is a right old fiddle-faddle – so was delighted that our suite was sufficiently spacious to allow us to eat our perfectly grilled steaks and soft-poached eggs in comfort, at a proper dining table. I wolfed down two pieces of toast as well, with a slathering of raspberry jam, and a smear of guilt. And the coffee was strong, almost smoky, and plentiful. It was a wonderful breakfast, and I was almost glad we had to get our act together to leave the room before ten, because I’d eaten so much that I could have been tempted to go right back to bed for a nap otherwise, and I’d have missed the rest of the day altogether.
We checked out on the phone and took our luggage down to the massive reception lounge, where we felt a bit lost. Serendipity’s only description of the person who was due to meet us was that Norman was “timid”. I looked around for someone hiding in a corner, or cowering behind a column, then glimpsed a piece of cardboard being waved in the air with “MORGAN” written on it in big letters. I grabbed Bud, and we were off.
It turned out that the person holding the cardboard was about Bud’s height – so around five eight or so – and about the same age – certainly in his late fifties. But the similarities stopped there: Bud was sporting smart navy shorts – he’d slathered his legs with sunblock before we’d left the room – and a pale-blue, short-sleeved linen shirt, which matched his eyes. Norman was dressed entirely in what looked to be home-dyed, ruby-red, un-ironed cotton – his bottom half swaddled in loosely-formed pants, topped with a massive collarless shirt that all but drowned him. His outfit hinted at origins somewhere on the Indian sub-continent, but I wasn’t convinced that was intentional. He smelled good though – sandalwood, with a tang of musk, almost beachy – and his beard was long and snowy, with a row of multicolored elastic bands bunching it along its length, just like his ponytail.
“Hello, I’m Cait, this is Bud,” I said as I stuck out my hand.
Norman looked at it with great suspicion, then grabbed it and waggled it up and down. “And I’m Norman. Norman McGlynn. Pleased to meet you. How thoughtful of you to wear every color all at once. Highly respectful, thank you.”
I looked down at my rainbow-hued stripy pants and top, which I’d chosen because they were jolly, and suitable for the weather. I wasn’t sure how my choice had been “respectful” but smiled as though I were graciously accepting a compliment.
Norman continued, “Serendipity sent me. KSue couldn’t come. She’s real upset about Linda.” Given his words, I found it peculiar that his expression was joyous. Odd.
“We were terribly sorry to hear about Linda. Did you know her well?” I summoned my most sympathetic smile, and Bud nodded, mirroring my concerned look.
“Know her? Linda?” The question seemed to baffle Norman to such an extent that he said nothing for at least thirty long seconds. His eyes darted, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Finally, he said, “I’m not sure Linda was knowable. Certainly she’s been my inspiration for almost a decade, and I have spent many months at both the original Gem, in Sedona, and the new Desert Gem. Indeed, my wife and I have been living there since it was able to accommodate us. But know Linda? Insofar as one can know the moon or the stars, I suppose I did. She was an incandescent light, illuminating the way for so many, allowing us to navigate the treacherous landscape that surrounds us all, helping us find the path we were always meant to take, that leads toward our true destination. I shall miss her presence on this plane dreadfully, though I have no doubt she’ll find a way to return to us…maybe as her beloved husband Demetrius has done, since he moved on. Zara, their daughter, is now his channel, you see…so maybe their son, Oscar, will take on the same role for his mother.”
I heard Bud stop breathing about halfway through Norman’s response, so nudged him to make him start again. His shoulders drooped, then he smiled a too-broad smile; I wondered how much of Norman’s earnest tone he’d be able to stomach before he burst.
“So sorry for your loss,” was all Bud managed. We all remained where we were – still and silent – for a moment or two. Eventually Bud added, “I’m not sure how long it’s going to take us to get to Taliesin West, but we have a tour booked for eleven, and…” He looked at his watch.
Norman glanced at the large piece of cardboard in his hand, then helplessly scanned the lounge. He nodded, folded the cardboard into the smallest square it would make, and said, “But of course. Yes, we should really get going. My wife’s come with me – I hope you don’t mind. We left the Desert Gem before dawn, you see, and she knows I don’t like to drive in the dark, so…”
We followed Norman toward the massive glass doors which slid open as we approached, startling him; Bud and I managed to keep our response to an exchange of an eye roll, and two firmly affixed smiles. Outside was a woman who looked almost exactly the same as Norman – minus the beard, plus a pair of truly rose-tinted sunglasses – holding open the door of a gleaming red SUV. With our bags safely stowed in the rear. Bud and I settled into the back seats, and we were off.
Norman was driving, and his wife turned toward Bud and myself as much as was possible. She beamed and waved at us, then announced in a melodious voice, “Hello fellow travelers, I’m Elizabeth, Norman’s wife.” She laughed explosively. “Saying that never gets old. Love him to bits, I do…don’t I, Norman?”
“You do, Elizabeth, indeed you do. And I you. As much, if not more.”
I heard the air escaping from Bud’s nose in the way it does when he’s in a situation where he can’t sigh with resignation, so realized I’d better lead the conversation.
“Lovely to meet you Elizabeth, though of course we wish it was under happier circumstances.” I nudged Bud’s knee with mine.
“Yes, so sorry to hear the news about your friend…I mean your…I mean Linda.” Bud’s tone suggested genuine condolences, even if he was clearly still struggling with Norman’s earlier assessment of his relationship with the recently deceased woman.
Elizabeth turned to face the road ahead, pulled down her sun visor and moved it around so she could see us in its mirror. “Linda? Gone? She won’t be gone for long. Not Linda. That woman was as ready to come back as it is for a person to be. I don’t know how she’ll return, but she will. In her heart she’s bound to Estsanatlehi, which means she can change, and renew. Linda is the Turquoise Woman, personified. We’ll connect with her again very soon, I have no doubt of that.”
“Estalehani?” Bud sounded puzzled.
Elizabeth roared with laughter. “Close, but no cigar. Good try though, Bud. Est-san-atl-ehi. Always break up unfamiliar words into smaller parts. Makes them easier to say, spell, and write. Navajo Goddess. Some say she created humans, others that she had twin sons by her lover, the Sun, that she lived in a house made of turquoise taken from the Pacific. Linda Karaplis was a devotee. In many ways.”
“Elizabeth has spent many hours, over the years, helping those who come to literacy later in life,” said Norman. I could hear pride in his voice. “Does a lot for those to whom the education system hasn’t been as helpful as it might. Knows a great deal about many, many subjects. A wise woman.”
“And you’ve created things with your hands that we’ve sold to raise funds to buy the supplies I need to be able to follow my path – so don’t go selling yourself short, Norman McGlynn.” Elizabeth glanced around. “We’re a team, you see, Cait, Bud. Folks these days don’t seem to understand what that means.”
“Common goals, different skills,” I said.
“Same end, different means – we get it,” added Bud.
Elizabeth adjusted her mirror and chuckled. “Good for you,” she said quietly.
“You’re a teacher, Elizabeth?” I thought I’d exercise my small-talk skills.
More laughing. “It’s something I took up in my retirement.”
“And what line of work did you retire from?” I poked Bud who was zoning out, and he perked up a bit when I made join-the-conversation eyes at him.
Elizabeth replied, “Banking. Many years in banking.” She made it sound like a life sentence.
“Did you two meet at work?” Bud was at least pretending to be interested.
Norman and Elizabeth glanced at each other. “We did,” replied Norman, returning his eyes to the road.
“Were you both at the same branch, or at a big HQ type thing?” It sounded as though Bud was scrabbling around at the bottom of a very deep barrel for questions.
“We were both cubicle dwellers,” replied Elizabeth, implying solitary confinement, then added, “You two been to Taliesin West before?”
I was surprised she’d changed the topic so swiftly. “No. But I’ve wanted to go for years.”
“You’ll love it or hate it. One or the other. Might find it surprising, though. We did the first time we went, didn’t we, Norman?”
Norman nodded. “Not at all what I’d expected. But inspiring in so many ways.”
“How do you mean?” Bud was living dangerously by asking such an open-ended question.
Elizabeth replied, “Norman’s good with his hands, like I said, and always has been. Can build anything.”
“But not fine work,” added Norman.
“We’re not building a piano,” chorused the couple, then they both laughed heartily, and joyfully.
Once they’d recovered, Elizabeth said, “You’ll have to forgive us…we have our little ways. Norman likes to remind himself, and me, that whatever he’s building won’t have the precision required of a piano.”
“And that’s why Taliesin West inspired me,” said Norman, “because there are more non-pianos there than you might expect. If Frank Lloyd Wright could get away with using less than perfect parts that still make up a wonderful, fabulous, awe-inspiring whole, then there’s hope for all of us.”
“Marvellous use of color at the place,” said Elizabeth. “The man certainly looked at the landscape surrounding him before he chose his palette. But you’ll make up your own minds, I dare say. Serendipity hasn’t told us much about you two, but I can see you’re both quite certain of who you are. ‘Know thyself’ was carved into the rock at Delphi. Important thing that – knowing who you truly are. It’s why we Facet. Facet and Face It.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” was out of my lips before I could stop myself. “At least, the bit about knowing oneself. My life’s work has been all about considering the ways in which people don’t really know themselves, or even those around them…don’t really understand the consequences of their actions, or inaction.”
Elizabeth half-turned. “Psychologist?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
Elizabeth said, “The search for a deeper understanding of the human psyche is a valiant one. That’s why I help folks to read – it’s the only possible path to real enlightenment. We don’t stand a chance of understanding ourselves, or anyone else, unless we understand the world in which we exist, and the best way to do that is to be able to learn. And that means you gotta read. The writing bit is useful, too, of course.”
“Of course,” I replied. “Good for you for offering help to those who need it.”
Elizabeth waved a hand. “It’s no sacrifice; I do it because I enjoy it. I cannot imagine anything more rewarding, or satisfying, than helping people to learn to read and write.”
“And speak, and listen,” piped up Norman. “Elizabeth has been instrumental in designing our talking, listening, writing, and distillation therapies. Zara has found her insights incredibly valuable, and we’ve all benefitted. Myself included.” I noticed that Norman squared his shoulders and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel as he spoke. “I feel I’m a little more assertive than I used to be.”
Elizabeth touched her husband tenderly on the arm. “Therapies and rubies…don’t forget the power of the stones.” She glanced at us in her mirror. “We’ve been wearing ruby red for a couple of months now, and both of us have invested in some rubies to carry with us at all times. Their power, and even the power of their color, influences our energy levels, allowing Norman to move toward being more courageous. And rubies are renowned for keeping travelers safe – so we’ll all benefit from that property, since we’re taking this journey together.”
“Excellent,” said Bud. “We could have done with a few rubies dotted around the airplane that brought us here. Terrible flight, wasn’t it, Cait?”
I agreed.
“Well, you landed safely enough, even if there was sad news to greet you,” replied Elizabeth. “But listen, we’re only about fifteen minutes away and I don’t want you to miss the landscape by having to natter with me all the time. Take it all in. Quite something, right?”
“We’re certainly not in Canada anymore,” replied Bud.
“Quite different to our home, halfway up a little mountain in British Columbia,” I added. “The predominant color there is green – all the trees, you know. This landscape is anything but. Though I’m surprised to see how many of the homes not only have pools, but also what appear to be large areas of grass. Is that real grass? Or do the locals use the fake type, so it doesn’t need to be watered?”
Elizabeth glanced out of her window. “A bit of both. Unsustainable. Totally unsustainable. But no one will do anything about it – not the ones who could, in any case. We do what we can, don’t we Norman? As did poor Linda. Her guidance will be sorely missed.”
“Until she starts to speak to us again, like Demetrius does,” added Norman.
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, until then.”
Bud and I gazed out of our respective windows and I marveled at how densely suburban our surroundings were. I didn’t feel as though we’d really left Phoenix, and yet we were almost at Frank Lloyd Wright’s jewel “in the desert”. Clearly there were desert mountains surrounding us – but everywhere else were homes and busy roads; it wasn’t at all what I’d expected.
Finally, I could see we were driving along Frank Lloyd Wright Boulevard – which bode well – then we turned onto Taliesin Drive. I felt the excitement in my tummy. I was going to see the place I’d read about for so long.
I squeezed Bud’s hand, and we shared a smile; mine was a little broader than his, but he puckered his lips, blew me a kiss, then whispered, “You’ll love it, I’m sure.”
Getting out of the car was a bit of a shock to the system; it wasn’t even eleven o’clock, but the sun was high, the sky clear, and it was already hot. The dust we’d disturbed in the parking lot hung in the air, not seeming to have any desire to sink to the ground.
“Just wander up that way,” said Elizabeth pointing through her open window, “there’ll be signs telling you what to do. We’ll leave you now, and we’ll be back later. Gotta go feed this beast; there are charging stations at Northside, not far away. I suggest you eat here; we’ll eat there. If we leave around two-thirty we should be delivering you into Serendipity’s hands by five, at the latest. Sound good?”
Bud and I nodded, and we headed off in the direction Elizabeth had indicated. We were finally on our adventure alone, and it felt good.