by Amber Foxx
No, it wasn’t. Mae listened to her father’s voice drifting from his office, talking with one of his players. Her parents’ divorce had been abrupt and angry, and she had gone years without seeing him. With Mae and Hubert’s amicable divorce, it seemed Brook and Stream should have had an easier time accepting a stepparent than she had, but maybe being so young made it harder. Jen wasn’t as mature as Arnie had been, either.
Mae finally said, “Since we’re all stuck, maybe a family therapist?”
Hubert grumbled, “Can you help pay for it?”
The question stunned her. Hubert knew she only worked part-time. Was he holding her responsible for the girls’ problems? “Why did you say that? You know my situation.”
“Sorry. Rhetorical question that came out wrong. Family therapy is a good idea, but it’s going to be expensive.”
“Aren’t y’all on Jen’s insurance yet?”
“We’ve only been married a month. We didn’t get around to it yet. The girls and I are still on that crappy cheap high-deductible plan you and me were on.” He sighed. “Which seemed fine at the time, since we’re healthy. Last thing you expect, getting married, going into counseling already. Guess we’d better fill out the paperwork, though, get on Jen’s plan.”
They wound up the call with pleasanter topics, such as her studies, the progress of fall crops at his parents’ organic farm, and a little light gossip from Tylerton. The player Marty had been talking with left his office and Mae went in.
“Hey, Daddy.”
He stood, put an arm around Mae’s shoulders, and called to the girl who’d just left. She came back, and Marty said, “Samantha, this is my daughter, Mae.”
Samantha was a pale, round-faced blonde with a suggestion of strength under her soft surface. She smiled. “Nice to meet you. Coach says you used to play.”
“I haven’t for a while, though,” Mae said. “I miss it.”
“Take her down to the field, would you, Sam?” Marty sat at his desk. “Get in some of your practice time. See if Mae can hit a Sam Special. And run after those long balls if she does. I need to make some calls, finish up some paperwork.”
The mental focus and physical effort of aiming for Samantha’s stunningly high-speed pitches brought Mae home to herself in a way that nothing else could have. The impact when her bat smacked the ball was better therapy than talking, especially about a problem she was powerless to fix.
On the ride home, she thanked Marty for the chance to hit some balls.
He kept his eyes on the road as they passed through a residential area near the campus. “I had a feeling you needed it. I heard you as you came toward my door—not that I listened in—just that tone. And the look on your face. Problems with Jamie?”
“No, everything’s fine with him. We don’t fight much when he’s a few thousand miles away. It’s the girls. Jen was like their friend until she moved in, but she hasn’t figured out how to be their stepmother.” Mae updated her father on the twins’ continued resistance to Jen. “And she’s easy to upset. When we were on the softball team together, people used to play tricks on her during trips for away games, dumb stuff like hanging her bra out the motel window. She got embarrassed and hurt and mad. She didn’t tease back or know how to stand up for herself.”
“Did you stand up for her?”
“Maybe not very well, but I tried. I told the girls who were doing it to grow up and that it was a joke that belonged in nineteen fifty-five. Who’s shocked by a bra anymore? The point is, Jen’s ... I don’t want to say she’s weak, but she’s insecure and she doesn’t want to admit it.”
“Brook and Stream wouldn’t try to make her unhappy, would they? They’re kind of bold little girls, but they don’t strike me as mean.”
“Not mean on purpose, but they can be thoughtless. They don’t understand her. How she puts on an act when she’s not sure of herself. Jamie’s insecure and anxious, but he knows it and doesn’t hide it, and they adore him. Of course, he’s not trying to be their daddy, either. It’s more like they want to take care of him. Stream, especially. He’s like a grown-up kid to them.”
Marty guided his truck onto the highway. “You ever think about what he’d be like as a father?”
Mae gazed out the window at the pink and red rocks, the stubby desert shrubs, the empty space. “You’ve known him longer than I have. What do you think he’d be like?”
“That’s a tough question. In some ways, I can picture him being wonderful, but ... he’d need time, I think. To get more stable emotionally.”
“I’ve thought that, too. He doesn’t see it, though.”
“You two have talked about marriage already? You’ve only been dating for—what is it, three months?”
“Closer to five. But it’s not long enough, I know. He’s the one that brought up marriage and kids. I told him I’m nowhere near ready. I didn’t feel like I had to mention that he’s not.”
“Or that Brook and Stream aren’t ready for another stepparent.”
“They’re glad I’m not getting remarried. But no, I didn’t pass that on to him.”
That night, Mae had her laptop set up on the kitchen table for a Skype chat when Jamie called her cell phone. “Hey, sugar.” She logged out and closed her computer. “I thought we were Skyping.”
“I’m couch-surfing tonight. They don’t have wireless.” A door closed. In the background a baby cried, and a woman crooned comforting sounds. “Going outside so they can have a little family time. Nice of them to put me up, but the place is tiny.”
“They must not mind or they wouldn’t have invited you. When the young’uns were little, me and Hubert were thrilled to see adults besides his parents or my mama and Arnie. People our own age. You don’t get much of a social life when you have babies. All you get is family time.”
“Reckon. It’d be all right, though. Being home with your family a lot. Like this couple I’m staying with. She’s a Celtic fiddler and he works in a bookstore. She plays local gigs, a few weekend festivals. Not much money, but they make it work. They’ve got a good life, y’know?”
Mae heard his longing and loneliness. Wandering into the living room, she was drawn to her children’s pictures on the wall above Niall’s sheep sculpture made of springs and horseshoes. She’d had that life once, the one Jamie envied. “It’s harder than it looks. I loved being home with the girls, but I was happy when they got old enough for school. It meant a lot to finally get out and work.”
“Delia works. Just not much. No long tours like what I’m doing.”
“I thought the tour was going well.”
“Yeah. But I could live without it. Do like she’s doing. Less money, less fame, but that’s not as important as a family, y’know? It hit me in your motel room the night before I left. Hit me hard.”
“Is that why you were crying?”
“Yeah. Didn’t want to explain, though. We always fight when I talk about marriage and kids. Didn’t want that to be our goodbye, y’know?”
“That was thoughtful of you.” Mae’s words sounded as awkward to her as they felt.
The silence stretched uncomfortably. Jamie finally broke it. “Your girls doing better with Jen?”
“Not really.”
“Fuck. Y’think they’d have a problem with me, too?”
“Sugar, they like you a lot, and that’s all that matters for right now.”
“But we’ll be together eventually. You’ll move to Santa Fe when you graduate.”
“I ... I might need to move back East then. To be closer to them.”
“What? Bloody hell.”
“Calm down, sugar. It’s just a possibility. I have to give it a lot of thought.”
Jamie didn’t calm down. His words exploded from him. “You won’t give any thought to our future, you always put it off and put it off, but you’ll think about this?”
His anger rubbed off on her, and she snapped more than she meant to. “They’ve been in my life a lot longer than you have.”
“I know. I didn’t mean you could compare. Or maybe I did. Jeezus. Dunno.” His tone softened. “Would you ...” A long pause. “Would you want me to move with you?”
“Maybe. I don’t know yet.”
“When my parents had known each other this long, they got married. We don’t have to leave it up in the air for three years.”
“I thought we’d agreed you’d stop pushing me for a timeline on our relationship.”
Mae sank onto the couch. Had that agreement been fair to Jamie? She wasn’t ready to commit, so he had to wait.
“Sorry.” His voice was quiet and tender. “It’s just hard sometimes, y’know? I love you so much. I miss you. And you’re such a good mum. I love being with you and your kids. But I can wait. I will wait. I always told you I would. You’ve got my heart. Forever.”
“I love you, too, sugar.” His promise brought tears to her eyes. He was so easy to love and so hard to live with. He would marry her tomorrow if she said yes. And with two divorces in her past, she might never want to marry again. In July she’d tried, painfully and unwillingly, to break up with Jamie so he could find someone who wanted marriage and children. He’d refused to even consider it. Now, here they were again, back at the impasse. What should she do with his heart and his forever?
Chapter Twelve
On an October Saturday morning in the energy room at the Charles, Mae spread her crystals on a side table in preparation for the last of three sessions. Between school, her campus job, and her healing work, she was constantly busy, but it felt good. It took her mind off problems with the people she loved. As a healer and as a personal trainer, she could make a difference in her clients’ lives; with Jamie and with the twins, she was stuck. Stuck and worried.
Jamie hadn’t dropped any more hints about starting a family, but he’d made another couch-surfing stop with a couple who had young children, and his craving for a life like theirs had still come through when he called. Mae’s children, meanwhile, had been to one family therapy session. The insurance coverage had finally kicked in and then it had taken time to get the appointment. So far, the girls didn’t like the counselor. Of course not. They liked Niall and Kate and Jamie. Why would they like a professional normal person?
Mae’s final client of the day arrived. The man filled the doorway with a genial but intense presence. His size and features reminded her of a cross between a tame bear and a friendly dog.
“Mae Martin.” He spoke in a dramatic baritone with a faint trace of a New York accent, clasping his hands in front of his crisp, loose-fitting white shirt. “My savior. I am so happy to meet you.” Was he being funny or was he that desperate to quit smoking? “I’m Sal Rexrode. My mother calls me Salvatore. My friends call me Rex.”
He was over six feet tall, broad-chested, with olive skin and puppy-dog eyes, a neat beard and thick, graying hair. Mae recognized him as a fellow lap swimmer at the town pool, one of those who rested between laps and chatted. She swam nonstop, so they’d never spoken until now. Mae shook his hand and invited him to sit and talk before the session. “I like to get to know my clients a little. It helps me work with them better.”
“Of course.” He perched on the edge of the table, one of his legs bouncing nervously. “That’s beautiful music.” Rex enunciated so clearly, Mae thought he should have been on radio. “It makes me a little less nervous.”
“I’m glad you like it.” She had one of Jamie’s old healing music albums playing with the volume down low. “I understand you’re here for help quitting smoking. You’re nervous about that?”
“Yes. I want to do it, but I’m terrified.” Rex leaned toward her. “Will I have withdrawal symptoms? Will I gain weight?” He was a few pounds overweight already, though he carried it well.
“Most of my clients don’t gain weight, only the ones who were too skinny to start with. I try to reach the addicted place, so you don’t end up replacing smoking with a new habit. You may feel a little forgetful or irritable, though. Your body will notice the lack of nicotine, but it shouldn’t be too bad. Not like quitting without a healer.”
Rex nodded. His leg was still vibrating. “I met a woman on Spiritual Singles dot com. We haven’t met in person yet. She loves my voice. She thinks I’m mellow. I’d hate to turn out to be fat and crabby.”
“I’m sure someone you met on Spiritual Singles will understand if you have a few withdrawal symptoms.”
“I hope so. I told her I’m going to quit before we meet. Will all my psychological garbage come up? All the things I’ve been smothering with my addiction?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I see events that might be the source of an addiction, but I don’t think the clients relive it. They say they feel something emotional happen, but it’s cleansing. Not unpleasant.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t matter even if it was. I’m going to have to face my garbage anyway.”
“It sounds like you have some other concerns besides smoking. Do you want me to work with anything else?”
“Not today. I’m going to a retreat for my other issues in a couple of weeks. My new friend told me about it. It’ll be our first date. I’d hoped she’d come down sooner and go out for karaoke—I like to sing—but this is what she wanted.”
A retreat for his other issues? How unromantic. Maybe that was what people who met on Spiritual Singles did on a date. Karaoke sounded like more fun, though. Mae had to ask, because of her client’s voice and diction, “Are you a trained singer?”
“Heavens, no. Just a retired salesman and a music lover.”
He looked to be in his mid-fifties. Rex had been a successful salesman if he’d retired that young. He should have been able to sell her on karaoke.
Mae asked Rex to lie down and relax to get ready for the healing, and closed the door so the room was lit only by the soft glow of the crystal lamps. She placed some of her crystals on his heart, his belly, and at the base of his throat. Certain ones such as amethyst were supposed to be good for releasing addictions, but she sensed that something else was required. Rex needed grounding, so she used red jasper as well, and clear quartz. She held another amethyst in her hand, one that her grandmother had used for healing and for enhancing the Sight. The silent guidance that came through it felt like her grandmother’s wisdom. Focusing on her breath, Mae emptied her mind to make way for the healing force.
Once she was tuned into Rex, she found a pattern in the region of his lower chakras that was entangled like a knot in a delicate silver chain. She sent energy into the knot, prodding gently, and it began to loosen. When the healing was underway, she did as Fiona had taught her, and held back. Rather than trying to complete the work for Rex, she watched and waited. The knot fell free, and she sensed a change in his inner body. He smiled.
With all the issues Rex thought he had, Mae had expected the process to be harder and messier. Sometimes during a healing, psychic journeys intruded, showing her the obstacles to healing or the roots of a problem, but his energy was clean and open, easy to move. Maybe he had less to deal with than he thought he did.
She closed the healing by bringing her hands to his head, waiting for a sense of closure, then held his feet until she received the same signal: it was okay to let go. Mae removed the crystals and put them in the pouch with others that needed rebalancing in sunlight or salt water, telling Rex, “You can take a minute to let it settle in.”
He sighed and folded his hands on his belly, still beaming. When he sat up, he started to speak, then seemed to think better of it. Slowly, he swung his feet down from the table.
“Was there something else?” Mae asked.
“You’re a medical intuitive?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure I want to know, but maybe I do. My doctor says I have emphysema, and I’m sure he’s right, but my last checkup didn’t show any signs of lung cancer, thank God. I want to believe I dodged that bullet. But that was six months ago.”
“Did you want me to check? I can’t d
iagnose anything but I can tell you if I see anything that your doctor should look at.”
“Let me think about it.” He slid his feet into old, scuffed loafers. “Are you going to the retreat that’s coming up at the Pelican Spa? They’re renting the whole Red Pelican part, with the private courtyard for music.”
“That’s with the Tibetan doctor, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going, but my boyfriend is doing the music. Jangarrai. That was his music you were listening to just now.”
“Then why aren’t you going?”
“School and work.”
“You should take the time off. My friend Posey says these people are wonderful. She lives in Santa Fe, where they’re from. This doctor can diagnose you just by feeling your pulse, and he works with an intuitive who can see your health status. Everything about you. Even your past lives.” Rex’s face lit up. “Posey wants to see if we knew each other. If we’re in the same soul group, it’s supposed to enhance our healing.”
This intuitive couldn’t be Sierra, could it? Jamie would never have agreed to work with her, and Mae had thoroughly checked out the web site for the retreat. It was called Vibrational Healing with Dr. Yeshi Ngarongsha and would feature Ku Nye massage, Yuk Cho stick therapy, healing and protection mantras, and other sound and music healing. There would be group sessions and private sessions, some of them optional. Dr. Ngarongsha talked about “seeing with the eyes of the Medicine Buddha” and his training in Sowa Rigpa, the Science of Healing. It appeared legitimate, if esoteric. There was nothing about past lives.
Then an uneasy thought crossed Mae’s mind. Sierra’s boyfriend was a middle-aged Asian man. Was he Dr. Yeshi Ngarongsha? If so, did he let his wacky girlfriend run part of his program? Twice, Rex had mentioned facing or bringing up his garbage.
Mae asked, “Is the intuitive named Sierra Mu?”
“Yes.” He appeared delighted. “You’ve heard of her?”
“I’ve ... I’ve met her.” Mae wondered if Rex noticed her lack of enthusiasm. She felt like she’d taken forever to come up with this vague reply, in her effort not to be negative. “What kind of healing does she say will happen with your soul group? Healing your ‘emotional garbage,’ or chronic illness, or what?”
