“So what can we make of that, Hana?” Gayle asked, impatiently. “Do you think Sabrina is dead or alive?”
“Actually, I lean toward thinking she’s alive. I think if she had died up there, the searchers would have found her by now. So many searched so long and so thoroughly. So maybe Diana is right. Maybe she did go off with some guy. Maybe he won’t let her call anyone. Bad things happen to women all the time. We all know that.”
Lark had been nodding throughout Hana’s comments. She looked around at everyone and said, “Maybe instead of trying to contact her spirit, we should focus on the Moxie spirit—see if we can come together the way she hoped we would. Maybe if we do that, she’ll come back.” I wondered why Lark put this challenge out there, given her expressed lack of interest in Moxie’s future. Maybe out of loyalty to Sabrina?
We all sat in silence for a few minutes. I mulled over the idea of bringing up Sabrina’s thirty-day plan. It might give us some clues. No one except Paige had mentioned it to me. Were any of the others in the plan? Then, as if we shared a wavelength, Paige tossed the issue into the ring.
“I told Cleo what Sabrina said at our circle ceremony about her thirty-day plan to stop giving too much to too many people in her life. Cleo said none of you had even mentioned it. I think it could be important. A step like that is a big change for Sabrina.”
Silence. Dead silence. No one moved or reacted. It was as if Paige had sucked the oxygen out of the room.
Finally, Diana spoke up. First she turned to me with a fierce look. “No offense, Cleo. But what happened at our circle ceremony is confidential. As a therapist, I’m sure you understand that the assurance of confidentiality is a requirement for an environment of trust when people are sharing private information.” She clenched and unclenched her fists as if flirting with the possibility of punching me.
But she was done with me and turned to confront Paige. “Paige, you of all of us should know that,” she said sharply. “You set up the ceremony. Why would you share confidential information?” Diana kept her gaze focused on Paige as she waited for a response.
Paige held her gaze, eyes wide, face calm. “Diana, I understand your concerns about confidentiality,” she said soothingly. “But there are exceptions. We have to think about priorities. If we have information that might help us find Sabrina, we need to share it and pursue any leads we find.”
“I didn’t mention the thirty-day plan because I didn’t think it was important,” Gayle broke in. “In fact I’d pretty much forgotten that Sabrina mentioned a thirty-day plan. It was probably just a thought that came to her mind for something to focus on during her personal journey.”
“No, she had a plan,” Paige said. “I know because I was in it. She wanted me to pay back some money she’d lent me last year. She was very firm about giving me thirty days to do it. She told me it was part of a plan to change her life. Were any of the rest of you in her plan? Or do you know who else was in it?”
A chorus of “no’s” accompanied by headshaking all around. Then they all disengaged and sat quietly waiting. These were not people who jumped in to fill empty spaces with nervous conversation.
But Paige wasn’t ready to let the subject go. “Gayle, are you going to try again to contact Sabrina?” she asked. “Because if you do reach her, maybe you could ask her about the thirty-day plan. Maybe she wrote it down somewhere.”
Gayle winced. “I don’t want to do it again,” she said. “Maybe someone else should try. Paige, since you’re the only one besides me who believes Sabrina is dead, maybe you should try.”
Paige didn’t answer, but Hana turned to me with a question. “Cleo, do we know for sure Sabrina has to be dead to contact us in your chamber? Could she come to us psychically if she’s alive and trapped somewhere?”
I took a minute to consider. “I can’t really answer that question,” I said. “I don’t know if that could happen. As far as I know it never has. At least not in my apparition chamber.”
“But you teach a class in paranormal psychology at the university, right?” Hana said. “I googled you and read the description. Your class covers telepathy, telekinesis, clairvoyance, precognition, psychic healing, spiritualism, all that stuff. So you must know about telepathic ways to try to find Sabrina.”
“I do teach that class,” I said, “but what I know about most of it is academic, not personal. I’m not psychic. I can’t see the future or find missing people. My only personal experience with the paranormal so far has been using my apparition chamber to contact spirits of some people who have died.”
Okay, I wasn’t telling them about Tyler. What would be the point? They wouldn’t be able to see him and he doesn’t answer questions in any way they could use.
“Maybe you should talk to a psychic,” I said. “Boulder has plenty to choose from.”
Hana stared at me blankly for a minute, then looked down at her watch. “It’s after nine,” she said. “I need to go.”
A relieved chorus of “Me too’s” replied, as the women stood up and prepared to leave.
“Let’s do a group hug before we go,” Paige said, “and focus our intent on working together to find out what happened to Sabrina. Come and join us Cleo.”
The women glanced around uneasily, then slowly gathered in the center of the room, We stood in a circle, arms around each other. No smiles, not much eye contact. “Let’s all take a minute to open our hearts, minds and spirits,” Paige said softly. “Let’s step back and acknowledge our mutual affection for Sabrina and resolve to help her the way she would help us.”
We hugged like a unified group, but I felt the remnants of individual agendas hanging in the air.
Chapter 17
Tuesday I was too busy to think about Moxie or Sabrina. I had back-to-back clients scheduled until about 4:00 when I headed over to Glenwood Gardens to visit Gramma. I found her in the living room with a group of residents and high-school-student volunteers decorating a Christmas tree. Christmas carols played in the background, and a spicy, gingery smell filled the air. It was just what I needed after a stressful day.
Gramma and an animated blonde teenager were twisting white pipe cleaners through holes in cardboard rings to make retro snowflake ornaments. I joined them, giving Gramma a big hug. She smiled and hugged me back. “Christmas,” she said. “I like it.” Then a worried look came over her face. “I have to get a present for James.” she said. “He’s so hard to buy for. I never know what he wants.”
Ouch. Grampa’s been dead these ten years, so there’s probably not much he wants. Or not much we can get anyway. But I didn’t want to go there. I wanted to soothe her. “Don’t worry, Gramma,” I said. “We’ll find something good for him. Now can I help with the decorating?”
I helped with the snowflakes, and then with making wreaths by stringing together squares of colorful wool recycled from thrift shop finds. Other residents and volunteers stuck mini candy canes into popcorn balls, which they then decorated with colored frosting. Some residents ate more frosting than they put on the ornaments, but no one cared. The tree filled up with pretty colors and the room filled with laughter.
Then it was dinner time. They always eat early at these places. I used to think it was disrespectful of the residents—done just for staff convenience. But I’ve learned that the residents like to eat early, just as they like to go to bed early. It’s as if their interior clocks are set to a different time zone. Maybe because nothing holds their attention for long, they’re always chafing to move on to the next activity on the schedule.
They were having meat loaf with mashed potatoes and gravy. It smelled homey and comforting. And baked apples—probably the source of the spicy, gingery smell I noticed when I first came in.
I helped Gramma settle in for dinner, then gave her a goodbye kiss and a hug. On my way out, Mary Ellen, the RN in charge, stopped me at the doorway. “Do you have a minute, Cleo?”
My heart dropped. “Is Gramma having a problem?” I asked fearfully, remembe
ring the problems Gramma had a year ago when she was still at Shady Terrace. Like her habit of picking up other people’s things and hiding them in her room.
“No, no. It’s not about Martha,” Mary Ellen said. “Martha’s such a sweetie. But I need to ask you something. Can we talk in the living room for a few minutes?”
I followed her into a corner of the main room, where we sat together on the couch. “It’s about Charlene who had the blue bedroom in the corner,” she said, pointing off to her left. “You know she died last month after she went into the hospital with pneumonia.”
“Yes,” I said. “Gramma still looks for her.”
“They all do,” she said. “We don’t try to make them accept that she died. We just say she’s not here right now. But that’s not what I wanted to ask you. It’s about her family. Have you met her daughter, Allie?”
“Yes. I remember her from Shady Terrace. Very devoted to her mother. Like me, she was so excited that you started Glenwood Gardens and that her mom could move here.”
“She was very devoted,” Mary Ellen said. “And now Allie’s having trouble accepting Charlene’s death. I don’t know whether she feels guilty or what. Not that there’s any reason she should feel guilty. She did everything for Charlene. But, you know, family members so often feel they should have done more.”
“True,” I said. “It can take some time to work though those feelings, to be able to let go.”
“Here’s the thing,” Mary Ellen said. “Allie is convinced that the staff at the hospital gave Charlene something that killed her. She says Charlene was doing fine one day and the next day she was dead, and that shouldn’t have happened. I told her that pneumonia can go that way when someone is old and frail, but she won’t accept that.”
“Wow, that is a serious charge! Why would the hospital do that? Does she have a theory?
“She says the nurses kept asking her if she was sure her mom would want such aggressive treatment for pneumonia, given that she had Alzheimer’s. She thinks the hospital staff thought Charlene’s life wasn’t valuable, and that she was suffering for no reason and would be better off dead. I’ve tried to get her to call you for grief therapy, but she’s more interested in suing the hospital.”
“Has she talked to the hospital patient advocates about this?”
“Several times. It sounds like they were very understanding and patient with her at first, but now they don’t want to discuss it any more. They say they’ve investigated and found nothing out of order. Allie doesn’t blame us here at Glenwood Gardens, so it’s not really my problem, but I feel bad for her. She’s so angry and upset. She calls me every few days to vent, and I listen. But I don’t think that’s helping her. She needs to find some resolution. Can you suggest something I could say to her to move her toward getting some grief therapy?”
“Maybe she’d go to a grief support group. Hospice runs some of those. Sometimes a group feels less threatening than individual therapy.”
Mary Ellen fidgeted and shuffled her feet. “There is one other thing,” she said, hesitantly. “I’ve heard you sometimes help people contact the spirits of their dead loved ones. Is that true?”
“Yes,” I said, thinking to myself that I’d rather not have Allie in my Contact Project because of her anger. “But it’s a complicated process and it’s not for everyone.”
Mary Ellen plunged on, going right where I feared she was going. “I was thinking that maybe if Allie could contact Charlene and she could see that Charlene is at peace, she’d be able to accept her death.”
I tried to discourage her with a pessimistic answer. “You’re right that seeing her mom at peace could help Allie accept her death,” I said. “But the Contact Project is part of a grief therapy process. If Allie’s intent on fixing blame, she probably won’t want to invest the time and energy to work through her grief. So she’s not a very good candidate for my Contact Project.”
But Mary Ellen had made up her mind. “Would you be willing to at least talk to her about it?” she asked.
I hesitated. A few possible excuses for saying “no” flitted through my mind. But bottom line, I couldn’t turn down a request from Mary Ellen. She’s a dear and taking such good care of Gramma. “Okay. I’ll talk to her,” I said, “but I don’t want to do it over the phone. Tell her if she wants to call and make an appointment to come in, I’d be happy to see if I can help.”
§ § §
Driving home, I thought about the difficulty of accepting that a loved one has died. Death is life’s greatest mystery, and grief is one of the greatest psychological pains. Helping people find that acceptance is what my practice is all about. And that’s also what the Contact Project is about. An encounter with the spirit of a dead loved one can bring peace by giving a grieving person a sense that the departed is comfortable, happy, and still with them spiritually.
I realized that in the past year I’ve gotten distracted helping people find murderers instead of helping them find acceptance. I’ve let myself get stuck in trying to place blame just as much as Allie is. Even though my investigations actually uncovered a couple of murderers, that’s not what grief therapy is about. That’s what police investigations are about. Suddenly I could see Pablo’s point. He keeps reminding me I’m a therapist, not a detective. And he’s right.
But now here I am up to my ears in another possible murder investigation. And it may involve Erik—the scariest guy I know. No wonder Pablo is worried about me. I have our baby to think about. In the other two murder investigations I’ve been involved with, I’ve found myself at the wrong end of a loaded gun. I’ve been lucky enough to escape unharmed, but if I keep putting myself in those situations, how long can my luck hold out? Is it fair to Pablo and the baby to take that chance?
As I pulled into my driveway, I decided I’d had enough. I had to change course. I would call Bruce right away and tell him I couldn’t help Gayle and the Moxie women any more and that they should go to the police for help. After all, I could tell him that I had met with all the Moxie women and that Gayle had gone into the apparition chamber but had not contacted Sabrina.
Before I could change my mind, I grabbed my phone out of my purse, dashed inside, dropped my coat on the floor, found Bruce on my list, and punched call. He answered on the first ring. “Hi, Cleo. Go ahead. I’m listening.”
I fumbled for a minute. No quick and easy way to say this. I wanted to be clear without sounding like I was blaming him for getting me into a messy situation. I paced around the room as I talked. “Um, Bruce. This whole thing with Gayle and Sabrina. It’s really complicated,” I stuttered.
“Right,” Bruce said. “Don’t worry about the cost. I know it will take a lot of your time.”
“It’s not the cost exactly,” I said. “It’s …”
“I have to go,” he said. “We’ve got some serious problems in our programming on this software package. I have to solve it tonight.”
“But I really need to …”
“Whatever you need, Cleo. No problem. Just fix this for Gayle. She’s the only sister I have and I’ll do anything for her. Talk to you later.”
He hung up leaving me sputtering. Not acceptable, I told myself. I have to call him back and have the conversation my way. But before I could hit redial, a familiar voice interrupted.
“Yo, Cleo.” Tyler surfed through my living room wall and perched on top of the TV.
I tossed my phone on the couch and plopped down next to it. “Tyler! I made a big mistake getting involved in helping Gayle and the other Moxie members try to find Sabrina. I need to stop.”
Tyler pushed off on some invisible wave, surfing quick circles around my living room. “That’s bogus,” he said. “Don’t bail your board. It’s the wrong time to back down.”
“No, Tyler. This is exactly the time to back down. Before it get dangerous.”
“The dorkiest-looking wetsuit is a dry one, Cleo. This is no time to be a beach bunny. Surfs up. Time to paddle out and shoot the curl.”
I whipped my head back and forth, trying to keep him in view. “But I thought you told me to listen to Pablo. What about our baby? Pablo thinks I’m putting it at risk.”
Finally he came to a stop right in front of my face. “Babies float, Cleo. No problem there. You need to keep paddling, find Sabrina, and find the shark. Don’t get blinded by the spray.” With that, he vanished, back to whatever spirit surfer beach he calls home.
I picked up my phone again, but this time I called Pablo, not Bruce. I was set to pick him up at the Denver airport tomorrow, and I wanted to let him know I’d be there for him, for us, and for our baby.
Chapter 18
Wednesday morning I woke up excited about picking Pablo up at the airport. I was ready to have a long talk with him about our future, our baby, and this mess I’d gotten myself into with Gayle and the other Moxie members.
But when I looked out the window, my heart sank. Snow was falling thick and fast. What if I couldn’t make it to the airport? For sure I’d need to leave early to meet Pablo’s 2:00 p.m. flight.
Bundled up in boots, parka, hat and gloves, I trudged out to clean the white stuff off my car. The soft blanket of snow muffled the usual morning sounds and turned my yard into a winter wonderland of abstract white blobs. I took a minute to enjoy the peaceful silence surrounding me before I attacked my car with broom, brushes and scraper.
By the time I got done, went inside and looked at my phone, I had cancellation messages from all my morning clients. So no rush to get to the office. I went back out and shoveled my walk and driveway. While I shoveled, I thought about Pablo’s concern that I might get snowed in all alone in my old house, and his suggestion that if I lived in Longmont, his whole family would be nearby to help me. I wanted him to see evidence this afternoon when we got back here that I can handle a snowstorm on my own.
When I finished the driveway, I was hot and sweaty inside my parka, but my face was icy and my nose was running from the cold. Time to go in for hot herbal tea and dry clothes. I turned on the radio. Schools were closed for the day. Nothing about the airport.
Lynn Osterkamp - Cleo Sims 03 - Too Many Secrets Page 10
