And was in the living room in Evanston, ripping open an envelope addressed to her from the Securities and Exchange Commission. She could not run from this – not until she had told the government what she knew, confessed to their lavish lifestyle, and admitted she had no idea how much money they had or where it had all come from. Lance had been the business major, she told them; Lance was the hedge fund manager, the financial whiz. She was just a kid who had wanted to be an actress, a would-be writer who got pulled into his world, and who had swallowed his bullshit like all his other victims had. But as soon as the grilling was over, she turned and ran….
And was back on the precipice, with the little dog yapping at her, and all the disasters she had run from at her back. She knew she needed to make a choice: she could step away from the brink and face everything that had gone wrong in her life. She could take responsibility for the mistakes she had made and absolve herself of guilt for the things that were not her fault. She could go back and stand by Lance’s side; she could play the dutiful wife who stood by her man, even as he drove them both over a cliff.
Or she could walk off a cliff under her own power.
Fleeing was a hard habit to break.
With the little dog tugging at the hem of her jeans, she took a step into thin air.
On the way down, as the wind whistled past her ears, she realized something was breaking her fall. She looked down, and saw two things holding her up: her minor in creative writing, and the college publication for which she had been the editor.
She looked past them, farther below, and saw her sanctuary – her grandparents’ cottage. There were people down there, too, but she couldn’t make out their faces; she was falling too fast and everything was blurry. She opened her mouth to scream, her arms wrapped over her head in a futile effort to protect herself from the consequences of her choices…
And stumbled out of the labyrinth, landing on all fours in the cold dirt.
At once, Ms. Thea and Ms. Elsie appeared on either side of her, taking hold of her arms, helping her to her feet. They gauged her appearance with wary concern. Ms. Elsie handed her a water bottle – not the one containing the salt water, but a regular clear plastic one with a paper label – and she drank about half of the contents, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her jacket. Then the older women helped her walk the trail to their cottage.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, as they brought her up the steps to their back door. “You don’t need to baby me. I’ll be all right.”
“Think of it as a special service we provide to all of our labyrinth walkers,” Ms. Elsie said, patting her arm, as Ms. Thea held the screen door open for them all.
In truth, Julia was glad to sink into a chair in the women’s living room. Her trip through the labyrinth, together with her sleepless night, must have taken more out of her than she had thought. Ms. Thea urged her to put her feet up as she whisked the stack of newspapers off the footstool – but not fast enough to keep Julia from recognizing the photo of Lance on the front page of the paper atop the stack. And why wouldn’t she recognize it? She had taken it herself.
She leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. In a moment, she was asleep.
Her dream wasn’t anything like the experience she’d had inside the labyrinth – for which her dreaming self was grateful. She didn’t think she could relive all that again so soon. Instead, she dreamed she was walking along the beach. She was barefoot, and the warm sand felt good on her toes as it supported yet cushioned her every step. Gentle waves murmured to her right. To her left was a wall of dunes, stippled here and there with beach grass. She thought Lake Shore Drive might run along the top of the line of dunes, but she could not see an easy way to get up there. For now, she was content to keep walking along the shore, the waves’ sussuration calming her, soothing her overwrought spirit.
It was past midday when she woke. Neither of the older women was present, but they had left a sandwich and an apple on the counter for her. There was a note, too, from Ms. Elsie: “We have to go into town. We’ll stop by to see you when we get back. Enjoy your lunch!”
Feeling as if she had already stayed too long, she wrapped the sandwich in a paper towel and pocketed it along with the apple. She scrawled, “Thank you for everything,” on the edge of the note and left it on her empty plate. Then she let herself out the front door and walked home.
Not until she had closed her own door and locked it did she begin to ponder what she had seen in the labyrinth.
She knew, in her heart of hearts, that she had been running for a long time, caroming from one apparent haven to another. That the labyrinth had traced it back to her parents’ death was somewhat of a surprise, but it seemed right. Her father had been in the process of earning his pilot’s license – something he had always wanted to do – and the day of the crash was the first time he had ever taken her mother aloft with him. It had struck many of her parents’ friends as romantic that her father had died doing something he loved, and with his wife beside him. But those romantics had not felt the searing heat that had consumed her parents. They had not lost the two people most dear to them in all the world.
The crash happened two weeks before the start of her freshman year of college. She debated sitting out a semester – she was sure the admissions office would understand – but her grandparents talked her into going, after all.
She ran into Lance a month later.
She didn’t want to think, right now, about where that had led.
Instead, she turned her thoughts to her plummet off the cliff – specifically, how her degree and her editing stint in college had cushioned her fall.
The reference to writing made sense – after all, she had come to Michiana ostensibly to jumpstart her career as a novelist. She had thought she would spend her days writing and polishing her work, without having to worry about earning money. But that was before the lawsuit.
Maybe she could support herself by taking on editing work. She wouldn’t need much; her expenses were minimal – just food and utilities. And that bastard Jesse had been right about one thing: she was a damn fine editor.
Nibbling at her sandwich, she opened her laptop and began looking into places where she could advertise her services.
~
The knock on the front door startled her from her research. She checked the time in the corner of her computer screen and glanced out at the waning daylight. Then she wiggled out from between the chair and desk and stretched, getting the kinks out from her hours of inactivity. “I need a better desk chair,” she said aloud, and immediately wondered how she would pay for it – as well as all the other new furnishings she had been meaning to add to the place, including a new futon mattress for the loft. Maybe she should look into getting a part-time job, too.
Her visitor knocked again. Sighing, she went to open the door.
Ms. Thea and Ms. Elsie stood on her stoop. “Hello, dear,” said Ms. Elsie. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” she said, moving aside so they could come in. “Thank you for lunch. You didn’t have to do that.”
“We’ve found it’s important to eat something after you’ve had an experience like yours,” Ms. Thea said. “It helps to ground you back in our world.” Ms. Elsie nodded in agreement as the two of them sat on the sofa.
“Well, it was sweet of you,” Julia said. “Would you care for anything to drink?”
“Oh, no, we’re fine.” That was Ms. Elsie. “We just came by to talk with you a little bit about your experience.”
“We don’t need every detail,” Ms. Thea added quickly.
“But sometimes things come up,” said Ms. Elsie. “We’ve found it helps to talk about them.” Now it was Ms. Thea’s turn to nod in agreement.
Julie took a seat on the hearth and debated how much to share with these women. They didn’t seem nosy, exactly. But their eyes were wide with hope behind their glasses, and Ms. Elsie had scooted forward on the sofa so that she was
literally on the edge of her seat. Did they have an agenda? What are they expecting me to say?
“Well,” she began, “I guess the biggest revelation was that I’ve been running since my parents died. I never thought about it before, or not consciously. But I met Lance when I was grieving, and I think now that I latched onto him because he seemed strong. Maybe I was looking to replace my parents,” she mused.
“People have gotten into relationships for worse reasons,” said Ms. Thea.
Julia nodded. “Anyway,” she said, deciding not to mention Jesse at all, “then I stepped off a cliff. I mean, in my vision, or whatever it was.”
The older women exchanged significant glances. “Was there a little dog with you, by any chance?” asked Ms. Elsie.
Julia blinked. “Yeah. It was weird – I couldn’t tell whether the dog was holding me back or trying to push me over the brink.”
The women looked at one another again. “The Fool,” said Ms. Elsie.
“Yes,” said Ms. Thea.
“What does that mean?” Julia asked.
“The Fool is the first card in the Major Arcana of the Tarot deck,” Ms. Thea said.
“Okay,” Julia said slowly. “I mean, I’ve heard of Tarot cards. But I don’t know anything about them.”
“We can do a reading for you,” said Ms. Elsie eagerly.
“No, really, that’s okay,” said Julia, holding up her hands. “I’ve never been into any occult stuff. I just want to know why you think I’m a fool.”
The women laughed kindly. “No, no, dear. You’re not a fool,” said Ms. Elsie. “Not at all.”
“There’s an exercise one can do with the Major Arcana,” Ms. Thea explained. “It’s called the Fool’s Journey. What you do is take the cards in order, one each month, and meditate on what that card means to you. There are twenty-two Major Arcana cards in the deck, so the process takes nearly two years. It can be quite revelatory.”
Julia politely shook her head. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
“I don’t think you have a choice,” Ms. Elsie said, her voice uncharacteristically sharp. Then she softened her tone. “What I mean is, your experience in the labyrinth shows that you’ve already begun the journey. If you don’t want to do the monthly card meditations, that’s up to you. But just be aware that the next two years will be life-changing for you.”
“You can say that again,” Julia said, staring out the windows at the back of the house. It was nearly full dark; she could just barely make out the outlines of the trees behind the house. She stood and turned on a lamp, blotting out the view of the backyard.
As she resumed her seat, Ms. Thea asked, “What happened when you stepped off the cliff?”
“I fell,” she said simply. “But two things slowed my fall: my writing, and the editing job I had in college. I think that was a sign that I should look into picking up some editing work. God knows I’ll need money to live on, and I won’t be able to rely on Lance’s support payments for much longer.” Her face twisted.
“When you fell,” Ms. Thea asked, and paused. “When you fell,” she repeated, “did you…land?”
Julia looked up at her. “Yeah. That’s what threw me out of labyrinth.”
“Where were you when you landed?” asked Ms. Elsie.
Julia raised her hands, palms up. “Right here.”
Ms. Thea let out a breath. “Good,” she said. “That’s very good news. You’re right where you’re meant to be.”
“Was there anyone on the ground with you?” Ms. Elsie asked. Again, the two women wore an air of hopeful expectation.
“Maybe,” she said. “I saw some people as I was falling, like they were waiting for me. But I was falling pretty fast and their faces were blurred.” She looked from one to the other of her interlocutors. “You two might have been there.”
“Any men?” Ms. Elsie asked.
A laugh burst out of Julia. “God, I hope not,” she said.
“But there were other figures on the ground,” Ms. Thea said. “How many? Do you remember?”
Julia thought back to that harrowing free-fall. “Two, maybe?”
“And they could have been men?”
She shrugged. “I suppose. I really don’t know. Look, why are you asking me this?”
“Oh, no reason,” Ms. Elsie said, almost too innocently. “We’re just trying to help you understand what you experienced.”
Julia narrowed her eyes. But her stomach chose that moment to growl, startling them all into laughter. “What I understand right now is that it’s suppertime,” she said. “Would you like to stay? I can knock something together pretty fast.”
“Oh, no,” said Ms. Elsie, as the women rose. “Thank you for asking, but another time.” They each patted her hand as they made their way out.
Julia followed them to the door, and closed it behind them. Then she leaned her back against it. Dear God. I think they fancy themselves matchmakers or something. The last thing I need right now is a man in my life. She banged her head back against the door and let out a breath. Then she headed for the kitchen to see about supper.
~
As soon as the women got home, Elsie went straight to her loom. She studied the weaving there and sighed.
“She’s not ready yet, is she?” Thea said.
“No,” Elsie replied. “But I don’t think it will be long.”
~
The following Saturday dawned clear, but chilly. Julia donned a Northwestern University sweatshirt and headed out the back door to get a rake from the shed. The door made its usual squeal of protest, and she made another mental note to find someone to take care of it.
She had seen Mr. Starek cast a baleful glare on her unkempt yard more than once that week, so she decided to start in the front. Not that she valued the cranky old man’s opinion of her. But she did care about the face she showed the world, at least a little bit. She supposed it was a holdover from the days when she fancied herself an actress, and reinforced subsequently by Lance’s need to live the life of a jetsetter – or at least to look like he was living that life.
She had cleared the leaves from the erstwhile flower bed in front of the house when she heard a familiar voice from the street. “Looking good!”
She turned in her crouch and grinned at Dave as he came up the walk. “Thanks, but I’ve just started.” She glanced around the yard as she straightened, sweeping stray strands of hair back from her forehead. “There’s so much more to do. Why do we have so many trees around here, anyway? Maybe I’ll have them cut down.” It was an old joke between them, born of too many autumn weekends spent raking for their families.
“Not a bad idea,” she said. “I guess we’d miss them in the summer, though.”
“You’ve mellowed in your old age,” she teased. “Last time we had this conversation, you were ready to go crazy with a chainsaw.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I have,” he allowed. “Need a hand?”
“Yes, please,” she said. “There’s another rake in the shed. And I need to get at those vines over the driveway, too.”
“I’ll trim them for you,” he offered as he followed her around to the backyard.
“That would be great,” she said. “I’ll have to help you with your yard in return. Or don’t your trees drop their leaves?”
He grinned. “I have a lawn service. It keeps the place looking lived-in when we’re not here. I can hook you up with them, if you want.”
She thought of her dwindling bank balance. “No, thanks. That’s okay. I need the exercise.” She pulled open the shed door and handed him the spare rake and the pruning shears.
He ran a critical eye over the shears. “I hope I don’t knock too much rust off of these. It may be the only thing holding them together.” He grinned at her. “Got any bags for the clippings?”
“Right. Yes. Inside.” She pushed hard on the back door, and it made its familiar screech of protest.
“Yikes,” he said, wincing. “Let me send my guy o
ver to fix that for you this week.”
She gave him a grateful look. “That would be awesome. Finding a handyman is on my to-do list, but it keeps getting bumped back.” She went inside and retrieved the box of bags from under the kitchen sink.
“No problem,” he called. “His name’s Ron Gorski.” He winced again as she emerged from the house and pulled the door shut again. “Yeah, you really need to get that fixed. I’m a little worried that the door will swell up this winter, and you won’t be able to open it at all.”
She glanced back at it, newly concerned. “I never thought of that. Okay. Give me his number. I’ll give him a call Monday.”
They pulled out their cell phones and made the exchange. Then Dave said, “You know, Jule, when I got here and said it was looking good, I didn’t mean your raking job.”
“Oh? So you’re criticizing my technique now?”
He ignored the joke. “What I meant was I was glad to see you.” He was not that much taller than her, and he seemed to look right into her eyes. “This place hasn’t felt right without you here.”
“I know what you mean,” she said. “When I pass your place during the week, it seems wrong – too empty. Like something’s missing.”
“Welcome home,” he said, grinning.
“Same to you,” she said. “Now get busy, mister. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
~
Given her experience with repairmen over her years of maintaining multiple residences in Chicago, she was sure it would take forever to get hold of Ron Gorski. But to her surprise, he returned her voicemail immediately, and was willing to come by the following day.
He showed up early on a drizzly Tuesday morning, in a pickup truck laden with ladders and cabinets that seemed to contain every possible kind of tool and part known to man.
“Nice truck,” she said as she let him in the front door.
He gave her a confident smile. “Thanks. I only wish it was mine.”
“You work for Ames Construction?” she asked, reading the sign on the side of the truck as she closed the front door.
Seasons of the Fool Page 4
