Law of Attraction

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “Some decks are designed to touch the untouchable within us. To give our inner demons eyes and hands, legs to walk around on,” the mystical woman mused. “I’m thankful that despite the tough times you endured with Gregg and the deaths of your parents, that you’re whole enough—happy enough—to soar above the imagery of that deck.”

  There was that happiness thing again. If Lenore noticed, it must be real. “Yeah, all things considered, I feel downright capable. And contented, even if I’ve had the rug pulled out from under me about who my parents were. And even after I found out Ross and Rita have a son.”

  “So the morning has been worthwhile? And you accomplished what you set out to do and be?”

  Angie exhaled, watching the way the breath shifted the steam from her tea. Did she see signs in every little thing now, the way Lenore apparently did?

  “I had no idea what was waiting to pounce on me. But you knew,” she accused.

  “Tyler had to surface sooner or later. Wasn’t my place to mention him.”

  “I understand that.” Angie recalled the young man’s photograph, the way Rita had concealed it beneath her crystal ball. “I think my appearance here in Harmony Falls is making Ms. McQueen clutch at a lot of straws.”

  Lenore laughed softly. “See there? You’ve got it all figured out, and without any help from me. I’m proud of you, Angela.”

  “Why? I rushed out of Rita’s back room so mad and scared I couldn’t see,” she replied in a rising voice. “And then I interrupted Ross’s phone appointment with a client, and—”

  “And equilibrium has reestablished itself. At a higher level now, because you know what you know. You’re learning, then moving forward. And that’s the whole point of our existence.” Lenore smiled as though her star pupil had performed perfectly. “A soul’s evolution happens one baby step at a time, dear. Sometimes two steps forward and one back. Most of us don’t encounter as many major life changes in the short time you did.”

  “Amen to that.” Angie stood as Elena came outside with plates and tableware, and said, “You’re a lifesaver! I thought Lenore was going to make me talk spirituality all day while we just smelled your cooking. Now that would be my definition of hell: sniffing and never getting to eat!”

  The Latina’s eyes flashed playfully. “That makes me a little devil then, sí, chica?”

  “A temptress in every sense of the word,” Lenore replied with a laugh. She set the plates and utensils around, then arranged their cloth napkins in a fancy fanfold. “There. I’ll get our water, Elena can carry the food, and you, Miss Angela, may say grace when we sit down.”

  Angie gripped the top of a chair. Why did she suddenly feel nervous? She’d always said grace as a child because…well, that’s what kids did.

  It’s like riding a bike, or sex. Once you’ve learned how, you never forget.

  She snickered. It sounded like something Ross would say, yet surely he hadn’t worked his way that deeply into her subconscious.

  You think not? Who’s he got on his mind right now? And what would he rather be doing?

  Her cheeks prickled with heat, and of course Lenore and Elena exchanged a knowing glance as they returned to the table.

  Angie sat down, sighing appreciatively over the platter of chicken smothered in cooked onions and red pepper strips, golden cheese that had melted into the crevices. “Oh, God,” she murmured. “This is so, so good. Thanks. For everything.”

  “And Lord, I give you special thanks for bringing Angela home to us, and for Elena’s wonderful way with our food,” Lenore added as she took them both by the hand. “I ask your special blessings on Patty McCormick, too. Be present with her, and let her rejoice in the great love she created by giving birth to this angel among us, this Angela we delight in. Amen.”

  Lenore’s eyes remained closed as she turned her face upward. Bathed in spring sunshine, she appeared flawless and ageless. Timeless. Whatever she was doing, Angie sensed it was one of the missions her mentor had come to this earth to fulfill. She tingled all over when she realized she herself had always been a part of this woman’s plan and prayers. Who knew?

  “Let’s concentrate on Patty McCormick,” Lenore murmured, still grasping their hands. “There’s great power in consciously sending out love, or peace, or healing—whatever you want the other person to receive—as you channel those gifts through your heart chakra. By sharing such blessings with others, we receive them ourselves. Even if that person doesn’t appear to respond.”

  Angie wasn’t sure about that heart chakra thing, but she envisioned the snapshot of Patty as a young girl. Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms tingled as though Lenore was sending magical vibrations through them. A startling sensation, but undeniably real. Patty…my mother…I send you my love…my gratitude. I hope your life’s turned out as well as mine has.

  “Well, now!” Lenore released their hands. She shook her soft hair back from her face as though bringing herself out of a trance. Then she beamed. “It doesn’t get any better than this. Thank you for making me so happy today, girls. Let’s eat.”

  ANGIE slowed her pace as she came around the corner of Windswept. As the whine of a power saw shattered the morning stillness, she slipped behind the overgrown bushes to watch Kyle Iverson cutting boards in front of the house. Did he charge time and a half to work on a Saturday?

  Yet, as she observed his fluid movements, the way he caught the plank with his toe to reposition it for a second cut, his body in constant, choreographed motion from years of experience, she knew he worked for the sheer love of it. As he measured, marked, and then let his metal tape ziiiiip back, the long ash on his cigarette remained attached. He eased the board into the saw blade again, catching both sides with swift expertise when it split.

  When he dropped his smoke to the sidewalk, he caught sight of her. “Hey, there. You’re out early.” His smile looked as tentative as she suddenly felt.

  Angie started across the yard. What did she say to the man she hadn’t known as her father? While Kyle didn’t seem the type who lived to intimidate people, his corded body, lean and strong in faded jeans and a holey hooded sweatshirt, bespoke a man who’d won a barroom brawl or two.

  “Decided to get a walk in before any more excitement found me,” she said. “Yesterday was a real doozy.”

  “Rita?”

  “Yeah.”

  As he positioned the boards across the bottom of the stairway’s sturdy new side pieces, Angie realized they’d just held a complete conversation in those two words. He’d asked, she’d answered, and no more needed to be said on that subject. And wasn’t that something? While she loved Lenore and adored Ross, it was refreshing to meet a man who didn’t expound on metaphysical laws or the meaning of life. He talked the way he worked: without ado. Three quick stabs of his power screwdriver attached each side of the new steps.

  Angie glanced at the skeleton of the original stairway, piled in the bed of his old pickup. “Wow. So, you’ve torn out the old steps and finished this much already this morning?”

  He positioned another board across his sawhorses. Measured, marked, measured again. “Figured on rebuildin’ the obvious stuff today. Hoped you’d happen by, so’s we could talk about walls and paint—and what you wanna do about the kitchen and bath fixtures? Kinda shabby.”

  “Yeah. But after all these years of basic white, I can’t see getting brushed-nickel faucets or a jetted tub or—”

  “Good. We’ll work together just fine.”

  His decisive nod made her feel as if she’d just won the lottery. And the way this master carpenter—the best rehab guy on the Oregon coast—had included her in his remodeling plans felt like the ultimate seal of approval. “What would you like me to do? No sense in me standing around while you work.”

  The lines in his forehead deepened with his smile. He looked her full in the face, this time seeing her instead of Patty McCormick. “Your head must be rockin’ and rollin’, after what you found out about the Cavanaughs not be
in’ your real parents. But you know what?”

  Angie held her breath, caught in his gaze.

  “You turned out a damn sight better than if you’d had me for a dad.” He chortled as though he didn’t often admit such things. “I like what I’m hearin’ from you, and what Ross is sayin’, and it’s on account of how you were raised right. Let’s look at that kitchen. Need your say-so on some things.”

  She felt six feet tall when he slung his arm around her shoulders. They stepped up the new, unpainted stairs together and into the living room, where the old carpet lay in rolls off to one side. “Wanted to replace any bad floorboards while I had the saw set up, but everything’s solid. Up to you, whether you put down another carpet, or—”

  Angie gazed at the dusty floor as though he’d uncovered buried treasure. “I’d love these hardwoods, if you think—”

  “That’s my girl!” Kyle said proudly. “Sandin’ and sealant’ll see ya good for years, and be more authentic. And in here…” They walked back to the kitchen, where he’d left cupboard doors open. “The cabinets are a little cruddy and off-kilter. I could order ya some from a place that does vintage look-alikes, or we can—”

  “Would white enamel revive these? I’ve always loved the glass insets and the rounded whatnot shelves at the end, and…” Angie’s eyes widened with the possibilities this little house presented. “Half the fun of living here will be restoring the place to its original cuteness, don’t you think?”

  There was that grin again. As if she’d said all the right things, as if it sincerely tickled Kyle Iverson that she’d keep these architectural details intact. “‘Cuteness’ is what we’ll see when we’re finished. Right now we’ve got some scrubbin’ to do. You okay with that?”

  A few minutes later they attacked the grimy paint with bristle brushes and a paste made of baking soda and vinegar. Happy to have a part in the house’s restoration—happier yet that she wasn’t dealing with Rita or any more revelations—Angie started to the right of the sink, while Kyle worked from the left.

  A comfortable silence filled the room. The whisper of the sea drifted in, fluttering the threadbare curtains. After about ten minutes, Kyle peeled off his hoodie to reveal muscled arms with tattoos of skulls and bolts of lightning. He chuckled when he caught her gawking. “Left my Grateful Dead days behind, but the body art lives on. Like some of my other habits from back then.” He tapped a cigarette from its pack. “Mind if I ask ya some questions? Not to be nosy. Just curious about who ya are.”

  As smoke curled from his nose, she didn’t feel compelled to protest: that cigarette was one of the choices that made Kyle Iverson who he was. “Fire away. As long as I can ask you some questions, too.”

  “Fair enough.” He picked up his brush to scrub the next cabinet. “So what’d your dad do?”

  “Taught bookkeeping and business education at my high school. Back before computers changed everything.”

  “Sounds like a dependable sort. Home every night. My old man made real good money—fabulous money,” he added with a sad laugh, “but the vacation home in Manzanita didn’t convince me he cared whether I stayed or left. So I left, right after you were born.” He leveled a smile at her. “Not that it was your fault, understand…Did your mom work? I mean, away from home?”

  Angie smiled at how he’d segued from his past back to hers. “She sewed for people. Did alterations for the local clothing stores, so she could be around when I got home from school.”

  Kyle nodded. “Lot of kids’d be better off if we still lived that way. You sew?”

  She gestured at the faded café panels above the sink. “Not like Mom did, but enough that I’ll be whipping up new curtains for this place as soon as I find a sewing machine. So, how about your mom?” My grandmother, she realized. All she recalled about her parents’ parents were snatches of long-distance conversations with very old voices. Trips to hospitals and funeral homes.

  “Mom was the perfect wife for Dad. Dressed to the nines, hair done every Friday. All the right clubs and charity functions. Raised me with those same ambitions for success, but obviously it didn’t take,” he added with a shrug. “What kinda job ya got, Angie? Ya strike me as real savvy. Competent without bein’ high-toned about it.”

  His compliment slid right past her as she focused on some crud in the corner. Until now, this talk had felt easy and natural. “I was a receptionist and assistant at a hospice in Seattle, at least until my ex got me fired for calling—” She reconsidered what she was saying from this down-to-earth man’s perspective. She didn’t have to impress Kyle Iverson, and he’d see through her excuses, too. “Okay, so I should’ve stopped taking his calls at work. Should’ve stopped taking a lot of stuff,” she confessed with a sigh. “The divorce was final six months ago, but Gregg wasn’t happy about it.”

  Her father wiped the residue from a cabinet door with a wet rag. “What if he follows ya here? If he finds out how Ross intends to—”

  “You’re not going to call him, are you? He has no idea where I am, so…” Her heart lurched. It made no sense, yet the fear had pounced on her.

  Kyle’s eyebrows went up. He came over to place his hands solemnly on her shoulders. “Honey, if I catch a hint that he or anybody else is messin’ you over, he’ll be real, real sorry.”

  The breath she’d been holding came out as a soft sob. When he slipped his arms around her, Angie fell wildly in love with this no-nonsense man who was already taking her part, defending her against anyone who posed a threat. Daddy—Bill Cavanaugh—would’ve reacted with more psychological finesse. He’d tried to reason her out of marrying Gregg, but Kyle’s response felt different. More primal. Less thought and more action.

  “Thanks,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “Least I can do.” He released her slowly. Went back to his scrubbing as though touched by the embrace they’d just shared.

  Angie had a lot more to say to this man, yet felt no need to spew it out or sugarcoat it or demand answers. When she saw somebody on the beach tossing a tennis ball for his golden retriever, she felt compelled to ask something. Would Kyle be honest? Or would one old buddy honor the other’s secrets to the point he lied?

  “So tell me this,” she began, her heart thumping like a nervous rabbit’s. “What should I know about Ross? I mean, we have gotten serious awfully fast—like, six days—and if there’s something lurking in his personality—”

  “Besides that number stuff on his radio show and the way he puts up with Rita?” Kyle snickered. “If you can fall for him in spite of all that, you’re a goner, girl. Nothin’ I can say’ll help. But I’ll warn ya about one thing.”

  Angie glanced over her shoulder, wondering what his change of tone portended.

  “If you’re just playin’ with him, if ya string him along and then hang him out to dry, I won’t be happy with ya. Understand me?”

  Angie’s heart stilled. Kyle wasn’t angry, but he hadn’t minced words, either. He was clearly a man who stated his loyalties and stood by them.

  “Costello’s pulled my ass outta the fire more than once—like when I fell off a ladder and my insurance didn’t cover diddly-squat,” he continued in a low, strident tone. “Then he gave me jobs and kept the collection-agency vultures from pickin’ me clean till I was on my feet again. Can’t find many these days who’ll stick their necks out for ya that way.”

  She nodded. Knew firsthand how Ross went to bat for those who thought they were out of the game. And in his way, Kyle was as all-or-nothing about his feelings, his loyalties, as Ross, wasn’t he? And that wasn’t a bad thing.

  So why squelch your feelings? Where did you ever get, letting Gregg have his say without stating your case? And if Kyle doesn’t like your answer, so what?

  She blinked. Divine guidance had never sounded so outspoken. But those questions reminded her of how she’d spent her entire marriage swallowing more than her pride, thinking Gregg would be more agreeable, more loving, if she only kept her feelings and needs to her
self.

  She turned to face Kyle, hoping the right words came. “If Ross hadn’t stopped me from walking into the waves, you and I wouldn’t be talking,” she said quietly. “That’s how we met. I wanted to end it all, because I felt my ex had screwed me over, cost me my job and drained my accounts. Do you really think I’d intentionally mislead Ross about my feelings for him?”

  The man across the kitchen mimicked her stance, leaned against the counter with his arms crossed and his expression loose. “Just checkin’. Had my share of women love me and leave me. Which is why I never settled down, and why I’m a damn poor judge of what’ll make a marriage work.”

  Till death do us part…and then on beyond forever. That’s how it’ll be for Ross now. And you should demand no less.

  A grin flitted across her face. He’d been with Rita for years. Had a son by her, yet he’d never married her. Never loved her enough to make it official or legal. Apparently he was already talking to her father about making things official with her.

  “Uh-oh. Musta let the cat outta the bag.” Kyle sucked on his cigarette. “Sorry if I—”

  “You are not. What else did he say?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Liar!”

  Kyle’s smoky laughter filled the little kitchen. “Fine way to talk to your father.”

  “That’s a dodge, and you know it.” Angie’s giggle joined his and grew until her stomach muscles hurt from laughing so hard. “Come on, spill it. What’d he tell you?”

  His grin lit up his weathered face and a boyish light shone in his eyes. “Not for me to say, little girl. But I’ll tell ya this: I’ve never seen him so happy.”

  It wasn’t enough, yet it meant everything. And it gave her a lot to smile about for the rest of the afternoon.

  THE next evening, Lenore hurried into the parlor as Angie and Elena huddled together on the couch with yarn and crochet hooks. “Patience, chica,” the housekeeper said as she popped Angie’s lumpy stitches. “When you make the first chains and double crochets of a piece, holding on to the yarn is the hardest part.”