Between Darkness and Dawn

by Margaret Duarte

  Veronica mounded my plate with scrambled eggs and bacon. Then added a bagel, spread with at least half an inch of cream cheese. “Why have all this crap in your ice chest if you don’t plan on eating it?”

  I didn’t answer, too busy drooling over the breakfast in front of me.

  “Anyway, how’s Adam?” she asked.

  “Ah, so you do care about him,” I said.

  “Give me a break. I hardly even know the guy.”

  “Then why’d you ask?”

  “Here,” she said, shoving the plate at me.

  “Someone vandalized Adam’s camp and grotto,” I said. “All of his statues were destroyed.”

  “Not all of them,” Veronica said.

  My egg-laden fork froze in midair.

  “I’ve got connections with the DEA, remember?”

  You said you were still in the pre-acceptance stage. Screenings, examinations, assessments, and background checks. That’s not exactly what I’d call having connections.”

  “A special agent in the San Jose resident office recognized the name on my DEA application due to my undercover work in Carmel Valley. Seems not many people volunteer to put their lives in danger for free. Anyway, when he read that I was temporarily staying at Pfeiffer State Park, he introduced me to the little bastards who were responsible for the vandalism of Adam’s camp. Apparently, they were booked on an unrelated charge.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Meth bust.”

  I shivered. We had bathed naked, not far from where the vandalism took place. “How’d the DEA know that the delinquents they arrested for meth were involved with Adam?”

  “Because the twerps had the amputated head of one of his sculptures in their possession.”

  “But how did any of you know it was Adam’s work, when you’d never seen it before?”

  “The face on that head looked exactly like me. Minus the eyes, of course.”

  “Antonia.”

  “Yep. According to the special agent, the pranksters thought the head looked spooky, sort of fit into their odd take on life. You should’ve seen the look on their faces when I walked in. Oh, Lordy, what a sight.”

  I grinned, appreciating the humor of the situation.

  “The employees at the resident office kept staring at me, and, for the life of me, I didn’t know how to explain. So, I didn’t. Which adds to my mystique.”

  I laughed. She probably drove them crazy with curiosity. “I’m surprised the head didn’t crumble when it was removed.”

  “Yeah, pretty amazing.”

  “Adam must’ve used sturdier clay from some other location,” I mused. “According to Anne, the quality and texture of the mud varies depending on where it comes from. Maybe it can even be... Oh my gosh, you should show it to Anne and—”

  “Not so fast. The DEA can only release it to Adam or Cecil.”

  I took a bite of the scrambled eggs. Cold, but delicious anyway, adding to the warm satisfaction I felt within.

  Veronica set down her still empty plate and jabbed it with her fork. Plastic hit Styrofoam with a popping sound. “Life sure has taken a turn for the strange and unexplainable. Either we’re crazy or very different, Sis, and I don’t like either explanation.”

  “It would be nice to feel normal again,” I said.

  “You bet it would.”

  “Except then we’d be stuck in our own separate ruts,” I said. “Unaware of what life was really all about.”

  Veronica stood and dumped her plate into a large plastic bag. “I’m still unaware. How about you?”

  “I thought I’d find myself here, but—”

  Veronica appeared to be hanging onto my words as if they held untold significance.

  “I’ve taken such baby steps. I tried to rush it, but couldn’t.”

  “So, what have you learned?” Veronica asked, holding out the plastic bag.

  I tossed in my trash. “That it’s not just about me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  THE LOOK ON CECIL’S FACE when Veronica and I walked into Adam’s camp made me smile. I swear, his eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. “Holy crap, there’s two of you.”

  “Double the trouble,” Veronica said as she surveyed the group sitting around the crackling fire. She nodded at Anne and Claudia before her gaze settled on Adam.

  From Claudia’s rapt expression as she scrutinized my sister, it was obvious that she sensed Veronica’s power and strength. Sometimes I forget how truly commanding my twin is. “Veronica has some good news,” I said.

  The attention already focused on my sister grew expectant. She shrugged. “All in the line of duty.”

  I gave her an impatient nudge. “Tell them.”

  “The DEA apprehended the delinquents who destroyed your campsite,” Veronica said, addressing Adam, “and were able to reclaim the head of one of your sculptures.”

  Adam smiled at Veronica. Not, I assumed, because he understood what she was saying, but because she was directing her announcement to him.

  “The sculpture appears to be of—”

  “Antonia!” Adam said.

  Veronica blinked, momentarily speechless.

  “He thinks you’re Antonia,” I said.

  “Who’s Antonia?” Cecil asked.

  “Sorry,” Veronica said when she noticed the tears running down Cecil’s face. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  He held up his hand, shook his head. “Who’s Antonia?”

  “Our mother,” I said.

  “Your—”

  “We’ll clue you in later,” I said, hesitant to clarify. There was a limit to the amount of information he and Claudia could be expected to absorb all at once. Especially when it came to the unexplainable.

  “Would you care to accompany me to claim the property?” Veronica asked Cecil.

  He wiped his eyes. “And bring it back here?”

  “Marjorie thinks Adam might have used some kind of special clay for this piece and that maybe it can be fired,” Veronica said.

  Anne pushed to a stand. “I’ll go along and check it out. If it’s salvageable, we can stop at the studio on the way back and keep it there for safekeeping.”

  With that, Veronica, Cecil, and Anne were off, leaving Claudia, Adam, and me behind.

  The camp was meticulously organized, the surroundings cool and serene. Insects buzzed, birds called, water flowed, and the scent of pine and fermenting soil carried in the breeze. Claudia took the opportunity to probe me with questions about my sister. Apparently, Veronica’s power and independence fascinated her. Like me, Claudia had spent far too many years under someone else’s thumb. The door to her cage stood open. She was perched at the threshold. Would she remember how to fly?

  While Claudia and I talked, Adam moved to the grotto. We paused our conversation to check on him, only to find him sitting beneath a sheet of sunlight, facing the trickling pond, head bowed, as though worshipping at a shrine commemorating his encounter with God.

  “I agree that being surrounded by nature is good for Adam,” Claudia said, “but Cecil can’t stay much longer. He has already stretched his away time to the limit. Turning off his phone was a novelty, but...”

  “Does he need the money?” I asked, repeating my earlier question to Veronica.

  “When it comes to money, and power, there’s never enough,” Claudia said.

  “And there never will be.”

  Claudia smiled. “I’m beginning to suspect that’s true. Cecil needs to keep adding to himself in order to be himself. He’s deathly afraid of losing. In his eyes, losing makes him less of a man.” She drew in a deep breath. “He’s wealthy, but when it comes to true wealth, he might as well be a pauper. It breaks my heart to see him look outside of himself for fulfillment and validation.” A quick glance at Adam. “What does all that money and power amount to in the end?”

  “It may keep Adam out of a nursing home,” I said.


  She gripped her hands together. “Yes, but for how long?”

  I had no answer for that.

  Adam turned to face us, a soundless acknowledgment of our presence. Claudia’s eyes filled with tears. “Cecil wants to take his father home.”

  “That may be best,” I said.

  “Cecil loves his father and is hurt, really hurt, by what he sees as Adam’s desertion. That he turned to Anne, a complete stranger, rather than to his own son during his time of need is, to Cecil, incomprehensible and unforgivable. Adam left behind a lot of unresolved emotional baggage, and, now it seems, it’s too late to do anything about it. Two, hard-headed men haven’t been able to break the wall of misunderstanding that separates them or express their love for each another.”

  Talk about hard-headed, she could’ve been talking about my adoptive mother and me.

  “Adam’s got a lovely place, you know. It’s too big for him now, but a lot can be done to rearrange things.” Claudia looked around for a moment, then continued, her voice lifting a notch. “We could build him a grotto like this one. He could keep Buster, even the tent.”

  They would probably need a special permit to keep a coyote on the premises, but I didn’t say so. They’d figure that out for themselves soon enough. “Sounds ideal.”

  “Yes, doesn’t it,” Claudia said.

  ~~~

  Cecil returned with an announcement. “Anne says the sculpture of Antonia’s head can be fired, which means we’ll have one more reminder of Dad’s tremendous talent.”

  “And love,” I said, wishing there was a way for Adam to express his deep affection for his son as he had only been able to do in his journal and through his art. I had a sense that the kindest thing we could do for him now was to help him say goodbye to his beloved son, and the kindest thing we could do for Cecil was to help him hear it.

  Anne glanced from Claudia to me. “Why so down?”

  Claudia shrugged. “We were just talking.”

  “About Adam?” Cecil asked, a touch of irritation in his voice.

  Claudia’s shoulders tensed. Was it habit for her to stiffen this way when Cecil frowned at her, or did she feel hesitant about expressing her opinion?

  Silently, yet with all the energy I could muster, I urged her to speak up and share what was on her mind.

  She looked at Cecil with a lift of her chin. “We’re worried about your father.”

  “I’ve already discussed it with Anne,” Cecil said. “We’re taking him home.”

  “I figured you would,” Claudia said, “and I think that’s a good idea, but... I think something has been left undone.”

  Anne stood next to Adam, watching him play with Buster. “I agree.”

  “Cecil,” I said. “There’s no doubt your father wants to be with you and that he’s not thinking clearly enough to see himself as a burden anymore. But something has changed in him, and I’m not sure he’ll get it back.”

  “Maybe I could take him on a cruise to Alaska,” Cecil said. “He always wanted to see—”

  “No,” Anne said.

  “How about therapy? We can afford the best.”

  Anne smiled, but shook her head.

  “Then what?” he asked.

  “How about we perform one of Anne’s rituals?” I said.

  Everyone stared at me in silence. No problem. I was following my gut, letting it speak. “The problem with Adam is spiritual, right?”

  “Yes,” Anne conceded.

  “Then we need a spiritual solution.”

  Silence.

  “During my time at the Esalen Institute, our Gestalt workshop instructor said that when a group finds cohesion, magic occurs. By performing a ritual together, we could focus our collective attention on helping Adam resolve any internal conflicts he may have and allow for what’s most right, when it comes to his disease.”

  After what felt like a long silence, Veronica said, “I’m the first to admit that the rituals Anne introduced me to during my stay here stretch my concept of reality. But if it helps Adam in some way, I’m in.”

  “What kind of ritual?” Claudia asked.

  Veronica laughed. “Girl, sometimes it’s best not to ask too many questions and just go with the flow.”

  “Anne combines a variety of time-tested spiritual practices with roots in numerous religions,” I said, “which fit her unique sense of connection and which she’s now willing to share, if we’re willing to bypass our—”

  “Anne’s a witch,” Veronica said, “who uses Wiccan rituals to open a crack in the door to our minds.”

  Claudia brought her hand to her throat.

  “The rituals Anne performs can help us send our wishes into the mental atmosphere that surrounds us,” I added, “which is receptive to our thoughts and meant to be used. In short, her rituals are a form of prayer.”

  I couldn’t tell if Anne was amused or offended by Veronica and my quick summaries of the spiritual pathway that fed her soul.

  “You don’t have to participate if you don’t want to,” she said. “And neither do you, Cecil.”

  “Me?” Cecil said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  ~~~

  “Why witchcraft, when there are so many spiritual practices to choose from?” Claudia asked as we gathered around the campfire for our evening meal. Cecil had prepared a feast of baked potatoes, corn on the cob, and barbecued ribs.

  “Why not witchcraft?” Anne countered as she filled up her plate.

  Claudia straightened her shoulders and proceeded to present all the reasons why not, including how it was one of the least understood practices of our time.

  Between mouthfuls of food and the waving of hands and plastic utensils, Anne and Claudia argued, debated, and eventually came back to, “Why not?”

  “Okay,” Claudia said. “Do what you have to. I’ll participate through prayer.”

  “Fair enough,” Anne said. “We’re all praying to the same Source, anyway. ‘When two or more are gathered in my name...’”

  Claudia closed her eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Veronica laughed. “Believe.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE not to appreciate the sheet of sunlight piercing through the redwoods, cottonwoods, and big-leaf maples lining the pond near where we sat. I raised my hands as though seeking the sun’s blessing on what we were about to do.

  Only a few months before, I would’ve been horrified at the very thought of participating in a Wiccan ceremony. All I knew about witches came from television and movies, children’s stories and fairytales. I had no idea until Anne clued me in that Wicca was one of the fastest growing religions in the United States, that it honored a deity divided into male and female spirituality known as God and Goddess, and that it gave reverence to the Earth. Now, I was about to join Anne, Veronica, and Cecil in a magick circle, in hopes of sharing with Adam our combined love, energy, and intent and help him allow for what was most right when it came to his spirituality and his disease.

  “Big Sur is an unusually powerful place,” Anne said, drawing me out of my reverie. No argument there. The area’s geophysics, if nothing else, made it a healing place. Anne stood and turned to Claudia. “If you’d like to learn more about the magick circle, you can help me set one up now.”

  “Knowledge is power,” Claudia said.

  I started to rise from my crouch next to Cecil, but Anne waved me back down. “Since you’ve already taken your ritual bath and are wearing—” she rolled her eyes “—your bath robe, better stay put.”

  Anne wore the usual white velvet cloak, impractical for outdoors, but impressive as far as rituals go. She handed Claudia a broom and put her to work cleansing the sacred space for the circle.

  “I can understand why Claudia won’t participate,” Cecil said with what sounded like admiration in his voice. “She’s Catholic, you know.”

  “That might actually be
a good thing,” I said.

  Cecil threw me a sideways glance and raised brow that appeared to question my sanity. Couldn’t blame him. I’d been doing my own share of sanity questioning lately. “The Catholic religion accustoms its congregants to ritual,” I said. “See the way Anne is walking around the circle with a bowl of water, cleansing and consecrating the ground?”

  He glanced her way, but I could tell by the restless movement of his hands that he was only partially listening.

  “On occasion, Catholic priests walk into the congregation and mist holy water over the parishioners to bless them and cleanse them of their sins. Now, check out the way Anne’s carrying the censer with smoldering incense in it. Catholic priests do that, too, as a form of spiritual cleansing. I’ve come to love the sweet, cloying scent of the burning resins. They’re a mild sedative, you know.”

  Cecil shifted his weight and stretched his leg. “Do the priests walk in circles?”

  I nodded. “I’ve seen them walk around the altar and around a coffin. And see that altar in the middle of Anne’s circle?”

  “Okay, I get it.” Cecil said.

  “Did you enjoy your ritual bath?” I asked, feeling the urge to rib him a bit. How tame today’s dip in Adam’s pond had been compared to my immersion in the creek with Veronica and Anne twelve days before. This time we’d worn bathing suits. This time, we’d only sprinkled ourselves with water. And this time, we’d run for cover as soon as the cold set in.

  “Nearly froze my ass off,” Cecil said. “Damn, I wish that blasted wind would let up.”

  “It’s only a breeze, you wimp.”

  “When that witch-saint-pal of yours tried to make us wear those spooky velvet capes, like damn Halloween costumes, and put on magickal jewelry, I nearly called the whole thing off.”

  “Magickal clothing and jewelry help focus the mind,” I said. “They create a mood and enhance energy.”

  “Bathrobes work just fine, thank you.” Cecil twisted around and frowned at Anne. “No wonder Claudia’s nervous. She thinks we’ve all lost our marbles.”