“You are so gross,” I said, smiling. “I’m going to class. You think she’ll be gone by the time I get back?”
“That’s rich,” Ida mumbled.
Chapter Nine
On my way back from class the next day, I ran into Joanna. She was still in her uniform, but had her purse slung across her body.
“Oh hey, Van, it’s you.” She sounded relieved.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Basically.” She nodded, worrying a red, glossed lip with her teeth. “It’s my ex, Marcos. He keeps showing up.”
“Like at Red’s?”
“Yeah, and even at my house. My mom loves him, so she doesn’t think it’s a problem, but he’s never come to my job.”
“You mean he’s here? Right now?” I asked.
“I’ve been seeing his car around. Which is fucked up, because if Chantal knew, I’d be fired.”
“Do you think he’d do something crazy?” I felt genuine alarm, for Joanna, for myself, even, funnily, for the Silver Saddle.
“I don’t even know. He’s weird. Obsessive.”
“Wow,” I said. “Sorry you have to deal with this.” I tried to sound sympathetic, but I was also curious. What would it be like to have someone around who was so interested in you? “Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Joanna. “If anyone asks, you never saw me, okay?” Then she gave me one of those easy, sly looks, a look that made me feel like I was part of something with her.
I tried to mirror her smile, pleased by how natural it felt. “On it,” I said, and kept moving.
• • •
Back at the suite, I found that Marine had commandeered the dining room table and covered it with wide sheets of paper filled with different-sized discs. A woman’s voice on a recording, deep and slow, filled the room. Marine’s head was bent, her hands clasped demurely in her lap.
I stepped inside, trying to move as quietly as I could toward my room, but Marine perked up as I passed—suddenly, like she could smell me.
“Oh Van, perfect!” Her large eyes bulged like a frog’s. “If you have a few moments, I’d love for you to join me this afternoon.”
“Sorry, Marine. I have homework.”
“Of course you do, of course. I just thought that you, my dear, would especially benefit from Laurel’s wisdom.”
“Who?” I was curious in spite of my desire to move away from Marine. The woman’s voice washed over us. There was a quality and depth—a looseness, an ease—to the tone that reminded me of my favorite Nina Simone songs. What makes it sound like that? I wondered.
“Laurel is my teacher, and a great fount of wisdom. You might say she is like a mother to me.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, wincing at the contrast of my forced politeness and the sultry warmth in the recorded voice. I started to move away, but Marine’s projects spanning the table caught my eye. They looked like pie charts, except the slices of pie were all uniform and annotated with strange pencil drawings.
Marine caught me looking and shouted, “Ah!” like she’d just killed a mosquito. “Yes, dear Van,” she continued, “I thought you might be interested in what I’m working on.”
“No, I was just getting some water.” I turned into the kitchenette and reached for a glass. I didn’t want Marine to think I was getting sucked into any of her New Age nonsense.
“How fortuitous, my dear water sign,” she said. “It’s like the universe wants us to have this conversation.” She turned down the volume of the recording and the strange voice retreated to the corners of the room.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re a water sign. A Pisces.”
“Yes,” I answered slowly, shifting from foot to foot.
“Have a seat,” Marine said, and pulled out the chair beside her.
Marine moved the tools she’d been using into a pile in the center of the table: a silver protractor-looking thing, and an assortment of colored pencils.
“Now, Pisces,” she said, “is one of my favorite signs. It’s your mother’s too, you know.”
Of course I knew. I felt a flare of irritation as Marine scooted her chair closer to mine.
“And we are in the Age of Pisces.” She pointed at a symbol that looked like a collapsing capital H. “The best thing, I think, and the reason I love Pisces, is you have a natural astral ability. More so, in my opinion, than any other sign.”
“Sure,” I said.
“The ability to access higher planes, to explore, psychically. It’s been so eye-opening to work with your mother. She is more aware of the unseen than anyone I’ve ever met. She’s a real virtuoso.”
Even I could tell that this was getting weird. It didn’t help that Marine’s eyes were all glassy and that she kept gripping my hand.
“And you, dear Van. I suspect you have a gift like that.”
“Yeah, maybe!” I said, with forced brightness. I pulled my hand out of Marine’s and pretended I was just fixing my ponytail. I pulled apart two handfuls of hair until my scalp tingled.
“Just tell me when you’re ready,” Marine said, her ink-dark eyes locked on my face. “I know I will be able to help you tap into that great potential.” Marine clasped her hand in a fist and held it close to her chest.
The glass tabletop rattled as I stood up and hurried away.
• • •
It bothered me the way Marine always seemed to be grasping—at me, at Mom, even at Ida. But, especially, at Mom. After those first tentative days, she and Mom closed all of the gaps between them. After that, if I saw Mom, I saw Marine. They were affectionate, too, which was really unlike Mom.
Their touching wasn’t inappropriate—they weren’t Frenching and groping or anything. It was more like they were making sure each other’s bodies were still there: a hand on a shoulder, two hips touching as they leaned against the counter, their arms linked as they walked. I pushed back the fear that Marine would be able to get as close to Mom as I was.
It was easier to ignore the Marine-Mom development because I’d been to more band practices with Carol and Joanna. At the very least, Marine’s arrival made my mind looser. That constant worry about Mom and her wildness, or her immobilizing sadness—the pressure was off a little, now that she had Marine. In a way, I appreciated the difficult job Marine had signed on for, partnering up with Mom. I had other things to worry about. Joanna and Carol and I were playing our first show at Alex’s birthday party. I was nervous, sure, but mostly thrilled. I was even more thrilled that I hadn’t had to explain it to Mom. Thanks, Marine, I thought.
I didn’t sleep well the night before Alex’s party. I woke up at five that morning having to pee really badly. When I opened my eyes, something didn’t feel right. No, something didn’t sound right. Laurel’s disembodied voice oozed into my room. I cracked open my door and peeked down the hallway. Mom was sitting, straight and still on the sofa. The voice hovered between us. “It is the charge of every sentient being to pull their white light to the fore. That white light is our great, divine gift and the source of all of our power. In some, it is stronger than in others. It is strongest in those who are made divine themselves. We must tend our own bright fires—and we must tend—and light—them in others.”
“Mom?” I said. “Are you still up?” I tried to cool the alarm I felt by counting my steps toward the living room.
“The white light she talks about,” Mom said. Her voice was raw, like she’d been talking all night. Like she’d been howling all night. “Don’t you feel it? Do you ever feel it?” Her gaze burned, not just with the ferocious intention of her question, but with something else. Mom had never asked me anything like that before. She’d never been so direct.
I shook my head, but of course I’d felt it. Laurel’s white light coursed through me, its brightness streaked through my fingertips when I played. It filled my chest cavity with humming possibility. I’d pushed it out through my hands, practicing and learning. Ida had no idea what she’d done for me,
when she showed me how to pour that light over the strings of her guitar. I was grateful and terrified, to play like I could.
I shook my head again. “No, Mom, I don’t. You should really get some sleep.” Mom tilted her head into the ripples of Laurel’s voice, and I tried to go back to bed. I counted through the songs Carol and Joanna had settled on for our set that night, thinking it might help me get back to sleep for a little. It didn’t. I wanted to pick up Ida’s guitar and pace through some of the trickier songs, but I didn’t want to think about white light, my own or Mom’s.
When I got out of bed, I found Ida in the kitchen. She slammed the coffee maker lid closed. Mom was still up—she hadn’t slept at all. The recording, thankfully, had been switched off—by Ida, probably.
“Oh Ida, you are so wonderful to make coffee every morning,” Marine said. She was dressed, but still looked half asleep.
“Mmm-hmm,” Ida said, and pulled four mugs down with a clatter.
Mom half stood over the dining table as she scanned a row of Post-it notes flapping across one of Marine’s pie charts. Her lips moved silently. Marine bent down beside her, so close that they looked like a pair of quotation marks.
“Good Lord, Marine!” Ida said. “Let the woman breathe!” The irritation in her voice was as obvious to me as a neck tattoo across the pale sagging skin of her throat.
“Oh, Ida,” Marine said, as she gave Ida an oblivious smile. “This is part of Sofia’s treatment plan.”
Ida spun around and my head snapped up. Oh no, I thought.
“What do you mean, hon?” Ida said, her voice carefully neutral.
“It’s distance less than thirty-six,” Marine said, looking down at the top of Mom’s head tenderly. Mom didn’t respond. She just pored over those Post-it notes, removing one at a time, tearing each one in half when she was finished with it.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that, Marine?” Ida said.
“Distance less than thirty-six,” Marine explained. She said it slowly, like it was a common combination of words, like Happy New Year, or Place All Hand Baggage Under The Seat In Front Of You. Ida and I looked at each other.
“I’m not familiar with what that is,” Ida said, carefully.
“Of course,” Marine nodded, as though she should have thought of that first. “In astro circles, it’s very common. In fact, it was pioneered by my mentor, Laurel. The practitioner—me,” she said, placing a hand on her chest, “stays physically close—no more than thirty-six inches from the client.” Here she placed both hands on Mom’s shoulders. “It opens the astral pathways, you see. Promoting the open flow of positive energy, of the brightest white light.”
Mom finally looked up at us.
“Fascinating, right?” she said. She stared at Marine, unblinking. “Laurel’s mind is one I need to know better.” I tried to ignore the disjointed construction of Mom’s sentence. It doesn’t mean anything, I thought. She’s probably just tired. I couldn’t have her unraveling on the day of Alex’s party. Just let me have this one thing, I begged.
“Fascinating,” Ida replied, still looking right at me. If Ida was trying to get me to say something—this is crazy, or, have you lost your mind—she had the wrong girl. I wasn’t about to stir anything up, not on the day of my first band playing its first show.
“Did I tell you?” Mom said suddenly, out of nowhere, mostly to Marine. “I located the old surveillance room. Good for private events, no? This is what we’ll explain at the meeting.”
I was stunned, not only by Mom’s invasive discovery, but also by her irregular, semi-slurred speech. Had she taken something this morning? Had Marine given her something to take? She’s Marine’s problem now, I thought bitterly.
Marine and Mom left after finishing their coffee, hand in hand. Mom whispered close into the side of Marine’s head. They really did seem to go to work together. At least, Marine went with Mom to all of her meetings. And if this thirty-six rule, or whatever, was really happening, surely Marine’s involvement went beyond meeting attendance. I wanted to ask Alex what Chantal thought about it, but it seemed like Mom’s private business. I thought it would be a jerk move, a betrayal, especially since I’d just joined a band behind her back and against her wishes. Not talking about it seemed like the least I could do.
I took the elevator down to the lobby. It was a shortcut to the Bill Pickett Room. I was sad—and a little irritated—to lose the surveillance room, but I realized with unprecedented relief that being in the band made up for that loss. I was running late after the morning’s weirdness, and wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings at all.
Basically, I walked into a guy.
“Whoa,” he said, as we jumped apart. I rubbed my shoulder where I’d bumped him.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m just really late and rushing.” I looked up, skimming over his face. He was smiling; that was good. He was young, maybe even my age. His eyes were a wide, warm brown, and his smile displayed a perfect braces-straight set of teeth. “I guess I need to slow down.” I felt myself blushing.
He shrugged, his narrow shoulders sloping beneath a denim jacket. “Don’t apologize,” he said. “Any day you almost get knocked down by a pretty girl is a good day.”
“I’m really, really sorry,” I repeated. Wow, Van, you’re a brilliant conversationalist. I shook myself a little. The guy bent his head lower toward me, like he could hear what I’d been thinking.
“If you weren’t in such a hurry, I’d ask you to buy me a coffee.”
“Yeah, sorry.” I winced.
“Maybe next time you run into me.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, sorry again.” Oh God. Leave. Leave now.
“See you around, I hope.” He waved, still smiling.
I was still smiling, too, as I turned toward the conference room annex, where I found Chantal and Alex waiting. Neither of them looked very happy. I wasn’t surprised, especially since they’d seen me physically harm a guest.
“Good morning, Van,” Chantal said, in a sonorous, principal-style voice.
“Oh, hi. Good morning.”
Alex stood a little bit behind Chantal. The natural morning light changed the lobby so much it looked entirely different than it did at night. You could see every stain and scratch in the pilling carpet, and the sunlight streaming through the smudged windows caught the facets in the crystals that dangled from the ancient chandeliers. It was incongruous, all of that shabbiness pushed up against something that was once really special.
“Van?” Chantal’s voice broke into my thought.
“Yes?” I was startled by how easily and how far I’d retreated into my own mind.
“I don’t think you heard me. Would you mind sitting down with me for a few minutes before your lessons?”
“Well, I’m pretty late already. I’m sure Erica is waiting.”
“No, she hasn’t arrived yet. Alex will stay here to greet her and let her know you’ll be along. Momentarily.” Chantal overpronounced every syllable of the last word, like she was trying to force a steadiness into what she said.
Alex shifted to face me and nodded hello. I smiled, but looked away quickly. Chantal examined us, one at a time.
“Van? If you’ll follow me?”
Before I registered her movement, Chantal stood in front of me, her arm out, waving me along.
She led me to her office, a small room off of the lobby. It felt like I was in trouble. I looked up at Chantal, waiting. The great wallpaper redecoration of the 1970s had had its way all over this little cube of the Silver Saddle. A variety of potted plants studded the office. They were lush and healthy—obviously very well cared for. None of them were from the desert.
“Please, have a seat.”
There was a desk and chair-for-visitors arrangement at the center of the office and a small sofa in the corner. Instead of setting up what I was sure was a headmistress-student type discussion, Chantal sat on the sofa and motioned for me to sit beside her.
“I hope you’re adjusting here,” she began. “We’re all very happy to have you. I’m sure Alex has been an ideal tour guide. I asked him especially to keep an eye out for you.”
“Oh. Yes, everything has been great.” It stung to think of Alex that way, and I think Chantal meant it to sting, that frank statement that Alex was paid to be part of my life.
“You’re a very bright girl, and Erica tells me you’ve surpassed all of her expectations.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling my face heat up. I suspected this was tactical, too. I’d also suspected that Erica was reporting to Chantal, but this straightforward declaration of Chantal’s monitoring hurt. I was being watched everywhere, and now, with Mom’s requisition of the old surveillance room, I had even fewer safe spaces under the Silver Saddle’s roof.
“I don’t want to put you in an awkward position.” Chantal stopped for a moment and stared at the wall, as though willing the terrible pattern to morph into a lovelier one. “And we’ve enjoyed having your mother here,” she added, so quickly I could barely make out the sentence. “Ida, too. Of course. She’s very charming.”
“She is.”
“Your mother really has made some wonderful improvements. She’s very good at thinking outside of the box.” When Chantal said this, she drew an imaginary box in the air with her hands. “But, can you tell me, how much do you know about this Marine?”
I was already sitting as far away from Chantal as I could. I pressed my body against the armrest of the sofa, like I could open up some other dimensional tunnel and escape through it. This wasn’t the first time someone had cornered me with questions about Mom, looking for some kind of explanation for her strange behavior.
“Not very much,” I said, trying to make my voice cold and flat.
“Van,” Chantal lowered her voice a little here. I could tell she was trying to be softer and less frightening. It wasn’t working. “It must be difficult for you when your mom’s personal life interferes with your family time.” She paused and looked at me, waiting.
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