Moondance (22 page)

“Yeah, I’ve heard the same thing about sex.” Michelle ignored her.

“What is your secret fear?”

Althea picked a card, the three of swords, piercing a heart.

“Betrayal in love. Enough said. What is your secret wish?” Althea picked a card, turning it over to reveal the face of The Moon, upside down. “You wish everything could be clear and rational. But with the Moon, Althea, things are never what they seem.”

• • •

ON HER DRIVE HOME, Althea re-played Michelle’s tape, listening closely this time. High Priestess. King of Cups. A wise woman, and a creative man or woman. Scorpio. Re-birth.

She had pulled the Death Card three times during the reading. Michelle said that this was significant. Big changes, she said. The Death card was twice right side up and once upside down. She had pulled it upside down when Michelle asked if there were a way to screw things up. Upside down, Death was the opposite of growth, it was stagnation.

“Don’t fight what’s happening. Or you’ll make it harder on yourself. I know you wish everything was reasonable, logical, but the cards say use your intuition. And accept assistance from others when it feels right.”

“One more card Althea. In all of this, the change that’s coming, everything you learned here today — what do the cards want you to leave knowing. Close your eyes for me and pull a card.” Althea pulled a card, and a second card stuck to the first and fell to the floor.

“Sometimes that happens, because there are two cards the deck wants you to see. Pick that one up, Althea, and hand it to me, the way it’s facing, please.” Althea picked up the first card and flipped it over, side over side. The Hanged Man.

“We’ve talked about this one before, do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“Well read this anyway.” Althea took the book Michelle handed her and scanned the page, then handed it back.

“What does the other one say?”

“It’s the three of cups. What a beautiful card. This represents a happy conclusion and the end of difficulties. It also talks about your creativity,
hello again
, and career advancement. What
I
think this means is that while you go through all these changes, it may create circumstances you would never have dreamed of, and put you on a new career path. Do you understand?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, from you, I know that’s as good as it gets. I think this is a beautiful way to end the session.”

She paid Michelle and hugged her tight before she left, sniffing back the tears. Her heart ached. She wanted more. She always did. Her wonderful bright-as-lights future
always seemed just around the corner, just out of reach, with lots of struggle piled up before.

It was raining and the pavement was wet and muddy, the spray thickening on her windshield narrowing her visibility. Instead of fluid, her windshield wipers emitted a pained hum. The rental company had forgot to top up the reservoir. She kept driving. Each car that passed, created another layer of murky caramel. She hunched forward so that she could look through the patch of her windshield that wasn’t covered in mud. Slowing down, she pulled into a gas station across from a restaurant she knew: the Bavarian Outpost. Althea and Kevin had been there a few times while visiting friends in Collingwood, a popular ski town two hours north of Toronto. That was over six years ago. It hadn’t changed.

She parked, bought some wiper fluid, then darted across the road and into the Outpost. She was greeted by a pleasantly plump, shiny-faced woman who smiled brightly at her, holding a thick menu in her meaty hand. Her eyes were pale, watery blue, surrounded with delicate spikes of mascara.

“How many of you today?”

Althea shook her head. “I won’t be eating, thanks. Do you still do mochas? Your specialty coffee?”

The woman smiled broadly, patted Althea on the arm, and disappeared into what Althea assumed was the kitchen. She sat at the bar. A younger woman with the same pale watery blue eyes and glowing skin shyly brought Althea some water. Althea watched the television behind the bar as she waited. The sound was turned off but she recognized the face of a wheat-blond reporter. It was a news and
entertainment show with an emphasis on the entertainment. The slickly
groomed woman was looking at the camera with concern. Then the screen flashed with rolling text, 1-900 numbers and stars, flashing and turning into hearts and dollar signs. Then a row of people with head sets, sitting at computers, leaning forward. The screen flashed:
Type your question here
.

Psychic lines. They were talking about psychic telephone lines and internet services. Althea wanted to turn it up. The shot cut from the
computers, to the apple-cheeked face of a woman who looked familiar,
like the wife of a television evangelist. Althea recognized her. This was a psychic to the stars and politicians. Ms. Wheat-hair was interviewing her, her pink lips pursed, trying to look intent. The psychic’s name was Charlotte Wise. Althea also recalled that Wise was linked to a political scandal in the United States, as the rumored lover of a United States senator and as an advisor to his wife.

Serious reporting this was not but Althea was curious about their slant. Was Wise’s company being investigated for fraud? Did they send someone in to catch them in a contradiction? Althea understood from working at White Light the basic tenets of new-age thinking. Though the people she had met who considered themselves new age, including Celia, were personally responsible and didn’t reject other ways of expressing faith, including traditional ones, there were also opportunists out there — flakes, and even worse — those who exploited fear and took advantage of the vulnerable at a very high price.

Traditional religions held dangers of their own, Althea knew. She had witnessed the rigid fundamentalist thinking of Kevin’s mother first hand. These people were scared, Althea believed, living their lives narrowly “just in case” they’d go to hell rather than because they had faith. Most religions were experts at wielding fear.
The church would be happiest if people just didn’t grow up to think for themselves
, Althea thought.
It was such bullshit
.

Yet she didn’t quite buy all the new age stuff either.

She and Celia had talked about this a lot. Any time people such as religious leaders, people in a position of power, sought control instead of compassion, separation instead of similarity, anytime people killed in the name of religion — the system was fucked.

Though Althea wasn’t sure what she believed, she had to agree with that.

Totally fucked.

The interview was finished. Ms. Wheat-hair turned to her colleague, a fresh-faced Ken Doll, and they laughed. Ms. Wheat Hair turned back to the camera and the credits rolled. Behind the credits was the silent talking head of Charlotte Wise.

“Our mocha,” the voice declared. Althea jumped. The Outpost’s shiny-faced matron returned, handing her the coffee in a tall Styro-foam cup.

“She’s gone. Disappeared.” The woman nodded toward Wise.

“The psychic?” Althea asked. She could feel the hairs rising on her arms.

“Yes, gone, poof, just like that. Right after that interview.”

chapter 34

WHILE ALTHEA WAS HAVING a session with Michelle, Sophie was shopping for their supper, walking through the supermarket, her eyes moving over the signs, wishing they were more detailed. Like her lists. She saw breads, ice cream down one aisle and moved her cart forward, scanning the freezers. She spotted Haagen Dazs Caramel Cone Explosion — one of Althea’s favorites — and wondered if her daughter was in an indulgent mood. She was on the cusp of major change, so she might be. She put the small tub into her cart.

• • •

SOPHIE PULLED INTO HER driveway, and got out of the car. Behind the warm curtain of rain was a welcome silence. She recalled the darkest period in her life, just after she and Albert met at a downtown Toronto jazz club. He was drinking then and she was pregnant and in love with someone else. And desperate.

Later, Albert was no longer drinking or playing jazz and Sophie convinced him to spend six months in New Orleans. When they returned, she had what she needed and when he realized what she wanted to do, they fought and Albert left her.

“You resent me because I have a vision and the guts to go after what I want,” she had said just before their break-up. Albert had said his peace that night. When he came back to her a month later, she asked that he never speak of it again. He never did. But there was a distance between them after that, a distance that lasted until he died seven years later.

Such a long time ago. She dug the groceries out of her trunk and walked them to her heavy oak door. While she unlocked the door, she checked the mailbox. Nothing yet.

Ever since Albert died, she and Althea only had each other. She loved
Althea with all of her heart, as much as any mother could. Within her heart was also a heady mixture of determination and resolve.

Sophie’s desire was simple. She wanted to create a new beginning for herself. To re-create her present and bury the past. To fix the
one event that had caused her to want to end her own life.

Some would say that what Sophie was doing was selfish but she didn’t see it that way. It was true that in the end, she would benefit, but so would her daughter. The plan was set. It was just a matter of timing. With everything going on at White Light, Althea was distracted, but Sophie knew her daughter. She believed that underneath it all, she had the desire.

She had better.

Sophie had bet her life on it.

In her bedroom, Sophie slipped out of her soft skirt and pulled on a shawl, wrapping it around her. She closed her eyes and took an abdominal breath, imagining her spinal column filling up with white light that connected the crown of her head to the sky and down into the earth. She pictured Althea’s face, glowing, holding the hand of the man Sophie had visualized a few short weeks before.

He was so close, Sophie knew.

On his computer, watching.

Who are you?

chapter 35

“THEY’RE HEEERRE.” STACY WHISPERED to Althea, her face a parody of humor.

“They’re eeeeaarly,” Althea said. She was reviewing a draft publicity plan for Ivana’s new series and had come in early this morning to get it done. Stacy turned away and gave her a message from Ivana asking her to lunch. This was the second time Ivana had called. Althea wrote “call Ivana” in her notebook. In her Inbox, there was a new message from Celia, subject line “Are you sitting down?” Althea smiled and clicked on the message.

“Received this from head office this morning-industry news. Thought you’d want to know. Talk later. Love C” Althea scanned the message “Chief Executive Officer Jeremy Goldhar is pleased to announce the following management changes at Bering and Associates ...” She scanned down further, her heart rising in dread.

“Daniel T. Bellows has been appointed to Senior Partner in charge of managing Bering’s Asian Pacific practice. Mr. Bellows will be based out of the Singapore office with Francis Wu, currently Bering’s Practice Leader for Mergers and Acquisitions ...”

Althea re-read that section. Francis Wu. She knew Francis Wu. She had been based in New York when Althea was in Toronto. She was very attractive, from a moneyed family. She was transferred to Singapore
just before Daniel left you
.

A grey fog settled behind her eyes. She wanted sleep. Francis Wu was now head of the practice she used to work in. She reported to Daniel. Daniel didn’t. Or did he?
Why did you choose ...

She read the description again. It had been almost two years. Yet she couldn’t get up because her legs felt like lead.

“Al.” Stacy was standing behind her again. “They’re waiting for you.”
She had lost time.
Get it together
. She steadied herself, grabbed her notes, and headed toward the boardroom.

The Exeter team was sitting on one side of the table in navy suits, and the White Light team sat on the other side. Vince’s notebook lay open at the head of the table, his chair empty. Althea introduced herself to Exeter team, barely registering their names but looking into each of their faces intently. She shook each hand, hoping that they couldn’t sense what she was feeling.

First, a tall slender man, bald, with long, perfectly manicured fingers and paper-dry palms.

“Althea Brecht. I’m in marketing. Nice to meet you,” she said.

An olive-skinned man with round soft eyes, a thick mat of hair on the back of his wrists, a firm grip.

“I’m Althea Brecht, marketing. Nice to meet you.”

A fair man, with light wavy brown hair and dark shadows under his moss-green eyes.
Green eyes
.

“I’m Althea Brecht. Nice to meet you.”

She sat next to Peter Wu and pretended to go over her notes while she struggled to regain some composure. She settled in to her chair, listened to the conversations around her and nodded where she thought it was appropriate. She caught the shadow-eyed man staring at her, averting his eyes as soon as she noticed. She knew his name was Mike Foster.
He felt familiar. Where did she know him from?
The tip of her pen balanced in front of her, Althea looked out the window with her best serious business face, her mind meandering elsewhere.