I think Pablo and I both had the same reaction. We were here, but the old magic wasn’t. We were the past, not the present. With our respective family issues, and each of us immersed in demanding training programs, we rarely saw each other for the next five years. And when we did it was a “So, what have you been up to?” conversation that ended in, “Great seeing you.”
§ § §
But deep down we never lost our love for each other. Finally, our stars exploded into alignment one night when I ran into him at a party at the house of some of our old college friends. It was one of those “across a crowded room” moments. I’m not sure why, but when we looked at each other, sparks flew. We weren’t the strangers from the song, but we were different people than we had been. I saw the Pablo I had loved so truly ten years before. In the ten years since our breakup we had matured into capable professionals. He was a detective with the Longmont Police Department and I had my grief therapy practice set up.
We flew into each others’ arms for a huge hug. “I’ve missed you, Cleo,” he whispered in my ear.
“Me too,” I whispered back.
“I was an idiot,” he said, pulling me off to a corner of the room. “It’s taken me a long time to realize what I gave up when I went off to Mexico by myself. I’d like to put the past behind us and try again. What do you say?”
“I say, I’d like to try that,” I said. And I knew I was ready. I could look back at our nineteen-year-old selves and understand how a young man who felt a strong need to grow as an artist with no distractions, and a young woman who wanted commitment, were a terrible fit. Back then we had loved each other, but were both too self-absorbed and unsure of ourselves to see each other. Now we had mellowed into contented adults ready for a new relationship.
We ended the night at my place—my grandparents’ house where I’d continued living after Gramma went into a nursing home and Grampa died. We came together, Pablo and I, with all the passion from our young romantic days, and all the compassion from life’s lessons learned in the years since. Our hunger for each other was intense, and our joy at the satisfaction of that hunger was blissful.
Since then we’ve jumped in and out of this relationship like a couple of high school kids. Neither one of us has wanted a serious commitment, so we’ve been mostly drifting. We have fun together, and we have great sex, and we love each other. But I haven’t had those old illusions about our relationship.
Now that I’m pregnant, he wants us to get married. But even though I love him, I have my doubts about whether marriage would work for us. I still have trust issues, and he still has independence issues, and in many ways we drive each other crazy. I think he’s too bossy. He takes over and I feel swallowed up by him. He thinks I ask too many questions and push him too much. He also thinks I’m too flaky. And we have the issue of where we would live.
Some days I think we can get past all that, have a good marriage, and raise our baby in a happy home. Some days I don’t. How do you know for sure? People say, “You just know.” But that’s too magical for me. I need to know we can fit together and stay together before I take that step.
Chapter 7
From: [email protected]
Subject: Moxie meeting
Date: November 28
To: [email protected]
Hi Cleo. I talked to everyone about a group meeting with you and they agreed. Looked at the evenings you said you could meet & tomorrow (Wed 11/29) is best for us. My house, 7:00 p.m., 2047 Balsam. We’ll bring food and wine.
I’m including a quick overview of the Moxie group to get you started:
Diana Lesko - Physical therapist, massage therapist, rolfer, into boxing & bodybuilding. Age 42 - 2 kids: Amy(14) & Hugh(15).
Hana Kim - Computer programmer, numerologist, climber, skier. Age 39 - one daughter, Carina(9)
Lark Dove - Nurse, potter, climber, skier. Age 39 - one son, Darby(9)
Paige Mosier - Yoga teacher, Wiccan high priestess (aka Rivka Ravenstar. Age 41 - two sons, James(12) & Mathew(13)
Me, Gayle Winfield - Real estate agent, musician, runner. Age 41 - one daughter, Nicole(16)
Sabrina Larson (former member?) - Nurse, runner, gardener. Age 40 - one son, Ian(16)
As I drove to Gayle’s house, I realized I was looking forward to the Moxie meeting. Whatever happened with the Sabrina investigation, I was eager to meet this group of strong single mothers. I might be on my way to becoming a single mother myself—not a path I had consciously chosen. But at thirty-seven I knew my biological clock was ticking. And I knew I wanted this baby whether or not Pablo and I decided to get married, so single-motherhood was an option I was open to.
Gayle’s house was exactly what I’d expect a smart Boulder real estate agent to own. A modern stone and wood two-story perched on a mesa in central Boulder with 360-degree views, and only blocks from downtown. When I got there at 7:00 p.m., I saw four cars parked in her long driveway, which told me that Moxie had probably planned a pre-meeting, most likely to prepare what they would say to me. Understandable.
Gayle answered the door dressed in skinny jeans and a black fitted t-shirt—the perfect outfit for her tiny body and black pixie-cut hair. “Thanks for coming,” she said, hustling me through a sparsely furnished living room with floor-to-ceiling windows and white walls splashed with color from several large abstract paintings. I would have liked to take a closer look at the artwork, but Gayle darted off ahead of me, jabbering loudly to be heard over the din of female voices coming from a room ahead of her. “Everyone’s here, in the kitchen eating, drinking and chattering away,” she said. “We all have our theories about Sabrina, and quite frankly we’re not agreeing on much. I’m hoping you can bring some clarity. First I’ll quiet them down so I can introduce you.”
In the gleaming eat-in kitchen, four women sat around a glass-topped table cluttered with plates, platters of food, and wine bottles. Gayle didn’t need to silence them, because they all stopped talking as soon as we came in. I sensed a discordant vibe, as if unspoken harsh words hung in the air. But if Gayle noticed, she didn’t let on. Just took advantage of the quiet spot to introduce me. “Okay, guys, this is Cleo Sims. And Cleo, this is Diana, Lark, Paige and Hana.” She pointed at each as she named them. I concentrated on connecting their names to their faces, as I said hello to each in turn.
Diana was seated at the far end of the table. A stocky muscular woman with closely cropped brown hair and full lips. Next to her was Hana, a slim Asian woman with long straight black hair. Then Paige, whose long curly red hair had the effortless windblown look many women envy. Finally, at the end closest to me was Lark, a tall Nordic blonde with steely blue eyes.
Gayle moved toward the empty chair next to Diana and across from Hana, and motioned me to the seat next to hers, across from Paige and next to Lark. They passed the food and I quickly filled my plate with a variety of salads, bread, hummus, and cheese, but declined the wine.
“Maybe we could each tell Cleo a little bit about ourselves while she eats,” Gayle said. She didn’t mention why they’d gotten here early enough that they’d all mostly finished eating, but rather went right on setting out her agenda. “I’ve already spent some time getting to know Cleo, so how about one of you starts,” she said.
No one spoke up. Hana looked at her plate, her long hair falling over her face. Paige and Lark sat quietly, their eyes turned slightly downward, eyeballs still, as if they had moved into a meditative state. Diana looked directly and intently at Gayle, issuing a silent challenge. Apparently the Moxie members hadn’t signed on to the program.
I felt the tension but it didn’t affect me. This was their show. I was there at their request—or at least at Gayle and Bruce’s request. I was hungry and the food was delicious, so I let myself relax and enjoy the meal.
Gayle, on the other hand, became increasingly agitated. She fidgeted, drummed her fingers on the table, and looked around at the women in turn. Then she grabbed her wine glass and took a big swig. “F
ine,” she said. “We’ll ask for what you want. But I don’t think it’s the way Cleo works, and I don’t think you’re making a fair request when you expect her to jump right in and help without getting to know us first.”
Was Gayle the group leader now that Sabrina was gone? I remembered that she and Sabrina started Moxie. Clearly she intended to be in charge of tonight’s meeting, and that might have worked if her phone hadn’t rung just then.
“Oops, I have to take this,” Gayle said, jumping up and heading down the hall to what I assumed was her office. “Have you decided?” she asked her caller. “You only have twenty-four hours…” her voice trailed off as she shut a door behind her.
The other four women lightened up a bit. Hana looked up from her plate and turned toward me. “Cleo, we mean no disrespect,” she said. “If we had met under different circumstances, I’m sure we would have enjoyed sharing stories and getting to know you. But this isn’t about us, it’s about Sabrina. We need to find her before it’s too late—if it isn’t already.”
Before I could reply, Diana jumped in. “Gayle told us about your Contact Project,” she said, “and we all want to sit together with you tonight to try to contact Sabrina. We owe it to Sabrina,” she said firmly. Her chin jutted forward, resting on her clenched fists. “Sabrina would do anything to help one of us, and we can’t do any less for her.”
Whew! A sticky situation. My head hurt just thinking about all the explaining and persuading it would take to get this group of women to fully understand and sign up as informed participants in the Contact Project. They were not only strong and determined, they were clearly used to getting their own way. I took a deep breath and offered them an option. “I understand that you feel desperate about Sabrina,” I said quietly. “And I wish I could solve your problem right now. But I don’t do group séances, or any kind of séances. I have a process and an apparition chamber that some people have used to contact dead loved ones. But only one person at a time can do it and it takes some preparation. So my suggestion is that if you all want to try to contact Sabrina, you each meet with me individually. I can give Gayle some appointment times so anyone who is interested can sign up.”
They were all looking straight at me now. Even Lark and Paige had emerged from their inwardly focused trances. “How long will your process take?” Lark asked, pushing her long blonde hair back behind her ears. “I have a pretty heavy schedule at the hospital and my son Darby is only nine, plus I live up in Nederland, so I wouldn’t have a lot of time for meetings.”
“I know you’re all busy,” I said, looking around at all four of them. “How about if I just meet with whoever has the time and wants to do it?”
“Here’s the thing, Cleo,” Paige said. Her voice was surprisingly soft and musical but intense at the same time. “It’s not just about our time. It’s about acting quickly. Hana and Diana are right. We need to be in touch with Sabrina now.” She leaned forward toward me from across the table, her mop of red hair skimming her wine glass. “And we all need to be part of it. Our combined group energy will be much more powerful than any one of us alone,” she said, her green eyes looking intently into mine. “I understand that it’s not the way you usually work, but this is a desperate situation. Surely you can make an exception.” I wondered whether anyone ever said “no” to Paige. Her melodious voice and earnest demeanor touched me so deeply that I almost agreed to her appeal.
Fortunately, Gayle darted back in right then, which gave me a minute to regroup. What were they thinking? Their urgency told me that they still hoped to find Sabrina alive. But they wanted me to help them contact her spirit? As a grief therapist, I know that the intense pain of grief can lead to odd kinds of magical thinking. Like seeing someone in a crowd who resembles the dead loved one, and hoping that somehow a reported death is a mistake. Or telling yourself that the death was all a bad dream that didn’t really happen. I’ve helped clients resolve these issues. But I couldn’t do it in one evening with five women all at once. And I needed to stand firm and uphold what I believed to be ethical practice as a grief therapist.
“I can’t make an exception,” I said. “The process isn’t designed to find missing persons. You need to ask yourselves why you feel this urgent need to try to contact Sabrina’s spirit if you believe she may still be alive.”
“That’s what we want to find out,” Gayle said. “Is she alive? And we want to find out as quickly as possible.”
None of them were following my logic, but I wanted to honor Bruce’s request to work with all of them. So I put my best offer out there. “I’m willing to meet with each of you like Gayle and I talked about,” I said. “And then I’m willing to set up sessions in the apparition chamber for whoever is prepared and wants to do that.”
Gayle grabbed the offer and took charge. I had already met with her and with her help I signed up the remaining four Moxie women to meet with me over the next few days. I would meet with Hana Thursday morning and then with Lark late that afternoon just before her hospital shift. Saturday afternoon I would meet with Diana, and Sunday with Paige.
Chapter 8
“Hey, Cleo. I need a favor. Would you be willing to come to my house for our meeting today? My daughter Carina is home sick with an ear infection.” It was Hana Kim on the phone Thursday morning calling about our 11:00 meeting. “I’ve just taken her to the doctor and she’s on antibiotics now, but she needs to stay home from school for a couple of days, and she’s only nine. If you wouldn’t mind meeting here, it would help me a lot. Carina will be downstairs watching movies, so we can talk freely.”
I couldn’t see any problem meeting Hana at her house, so I agreed to move our meeting there. It’s not like she’s a therapy client who I needed to meet in my office. And in my new status as mom-to-be, I was taking an expansive view of the needs of moms, especially single moms.
Hana’s house was a split-level in the Table Mesa subdivision in south Boulder. I parked on the street in front and walked along a stone pathway through a partially-enclosed courtyard to the front door. I had a sense of how lovely the patio must be in summer. Even on this cold winter day, I could feel serenity emanating from the large rocks and stone Buddha statue at the end of the porch.
Hana opened the door before I could knock. The calm atmosphere continued as I walked through a small entryway to the living room. A bamboo fountain. Plants. Incense. She had tea and cookies set out on a black lacquered coffee table in front of a long low couch.
“I love this room,” I said. “It has such a harmonious feeling.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I used feng shui to create the room. I like the calm gentle energy.”
We sat on the couch. “I won’t introduce you to Carina,” Hana said. “Don’t want to expose you to her germs. Like I said, she’s downstairs watching movies. A rare treat for her. I limit her TV time pretty strictly, except when she’s sick. Anyway, she’s in her own world down there. Has a huge glass of OJ. So we don’t need to worry about being interrupted.” She poured tea from a red oval teapot into matching handleless cups, put one in front of each of us, then sat back and looked inquiringly at me. “Where would you like to start?”
“Tell me about Sabrina,” I said. “What is she like?”
Hana bent her head forward, intently studying her hands. I admired her glossy coal-black hair, stick straight with bangs cut so evenly her head could be an avatar in some virtual universe.
She took a deep breath, sat up and turned toward me, her face composed. “I’m a numerologist—kind of fits with being a computer programmer, don’t you think?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Anyway, for me the best way to describe someone’s personality is to tell you about their destiny number.”
“Sounds interesting. I don’t know much about numerology. What’s a destiny number?”
“It’s a number derived from all the letters in your full birth name that describes the potential, opportunities and challenges of your lifetime. Sabrina’s destiny number is six. Si
xes like to give help and comfort to those in need. They have a strong love of home and domestic affairs and make the finest, most concerned parents. Sixes are loving, friendly, and appreciative of others and they have a depth of understanding that produces sympathetic kindness and generosity.”
My mind drifted briefly to the implications for my baby of the name I would choose for her or him. I had no idea that a name had this power. Surely Hana wasn’t implying that I could influence my baby’s personality by the name I gave her or him. “Are you saying that Sabrina has these traits because of the name her parents gave her?”
“That’s complicated. What her number does is tell us about her character and motivation and describe the life tasks she faces using the name she was given.”
“Is it all positive or do bad traits go with some destiny numbers?”
“All the numbers have their negative sides. For sixes that can be stubbornness, self-righteousness, or dominance. Also, sixes can demand too much of themselves or sacrifice themselves for the welfare of others. And sometimes they have trouble distinguishing helping from interfering.”
“So all this fits Sabrina?”
“Yes, I think most of us who know her would agree that’s a good description of her. She’s a nurse, who works very hard at her job. She spends most of her free time with Ian going on weekend snowboarding trips to the mountains. She’s tried over and over to help her sister Brandi, an ungrateful brat who uses Sabrina for whatever she can get. Sabrina’s been a loyal friend to all of us, even when things got sticky.”
I let the negatives about Brandi go by to keep the focus on Sabrina and the Moxie women. “By all of us, you mean the Moxie group?”
“Yes. Sabrina is the soul of Moxie. She and Gayle started the group, but Sabrina was the one who kept us on track.”
Lynn Osterkamp - Cleo Sims 03 - Too Many Secrets Page 4
