Authors: Laura Pedersen
I'm quite certain this was said for Olivia's benefit, as Bernard emphasizes the last line.
Bernard dramatically wraps up his soliloquy. “It's the one that makes you feel good inside, and you know that if it hangs on your wall for the next sixty years you'll never become tired of it.”
First one tear falls onto the kitchen table and then another. It suddenly becomes crystal clear that I've gone and ruined the best thing that's ever happened to me.
Another young voice in the other room pipes up. “What's the right age to get married?”
“It's not like a soufflé. You can't time these things,” says Bernard. “Now let's concentrate for a moment on candles. The wicks must be trimmed to a quarter of an inch so flames aren't licking the ceiling and leaving black smoke on the brows of your guests.”
The grandfather clock in the hall chimes four times. “Where
do
the hours go?” asks Bernard. “Next week we'll be discussing proper skin care, and so everyone bring a pumice stone.”
O
N MONDAY MORNING I'M ABOUT TO LEAVE FOR THE STOCKTONS’
when Bernard calls and asks me to stop at his store. He's sold a tortoiseshell scent bottle over the Internet and says that June will have it all packed up.
I park in front of the plaque marking the spot where two generals faced off during the War of 1812. Something is different and I realize that the Curl Up and Dye Beauty Salon next door has a new neon sign.
When I enter Bernard's shop, little bells tinkle above my head. The sound of New Age music more or less disguises the noise from all the clocks ticking. The harp and guitar combination is pleasant, but I can't help think that if you listen long enough your thoughts could conceivably turn to homicide.
June has frizzy purplish red hair that ends just above long complicated wind-chime earrings. She's wearing a bright yellow knitted top over a diaphanous paisley peasant skirt with enough crystals suspended from her neck to ensure that at least one of them could paralyze Superman. June has a heavy hand with the cosmetics; it's safe to say that she doesn't just love gold-flecked purple eye shadow—she wants to marry it and have its children.
The shop is the same as ever except the glass case that was previously filled with cloisonné snuffboxes and silver cigarette cases is now home to black felt-covered trays holding different colored stones. And instead of the usual smell, which was basically your grandmother's living room, there's a forest aroma. I notice a few incense sticks burning on a refectory table that send curls of smoke into the air. June sits behind the counter bent over a piece of jewelry, using tweezers and a magnifying glass.
“Mmm, it smells nice in here,” I say.
June closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and exhales. “Roman chamomile.” She points to a little blue bottle that looks like it was designed to hold a magic potion in a movie about witches. “It helps maintain alertness. I'm a Pisces, and when entering a strong sign like Cancer I become very accident prone.”
I nod my head as if this makes perfect sense.
“What's
your
sign?” asks June.
“Oh, I'm not much of one for astrology.” I chuckle a little bit. “I mean, what if your mother has a caesarean and the doctor schedules it on a Thursday because he wants to play golf on Friday and that ends up changing your sign?”
June looks as if she's been startled by a burglar. “The soul is always born at exactly the right time, even if there's medical intervention involved! Were you a C-section?”
“Um, no. Actually, Mom says I was right on time—September eighth.”
“Virgo! How
interesting!
Virgos are creative, delicate, and intelligent.”
“I thought it meant virginal,” I say. Which is appropriate since I'm apparently destined for a life of celibacy. I may as well start signing myself “Sister Hallie.”
“It means that the sun shone in the sixth house of Virgo,
which is an earth sign, on your birthday. So you're shy, like a virgin waiting to find the perfect lover. Virgos are responsible— you can always give a job to a Virgo and know that it will get done. And although you're idealistic, you're almost always logical when it comes to everyday life.”
“I guess that sounds like me.” I must admit, I'm rather intrigued.
“But you have to be careful that disappointment doesn't harden you into a cynic,” June warns.
She opens a large book next to Bernard's old-fashioned cash register, which wasn't employed for charm so much as that it doesn't keep a record of sales for the IRS. June turns to a complicated diagram and points to a particular section. “Your ruling planet is Mercury, your lucky colors are green and dark brown, and your lucky numbers are two, five, and seven.”
“How interesting,” I say.
“If you have an hour, we can do your chart,” June offers.
“What will that do?” I ask.
“Tell you more about yourself, your past lives, when you should make important decisions, when you shouldn't—those kinds of things.”
“Does it say what's going to happen to me in the future, like if I'm going to get married?”
“There are indications,” says June. “The romantic character of the Virgo is very complicated. Your heart can lead you into unpleasant situations and also from one affair to another. That's because you like to use your creativity and imagination in a relationship. If you're currently worried about a specific situation, then the best thing to do is wear a crystal to address that particular purpose.”
“I don't know, I should get going,” I say. “Bernard is waiting for that scent bottle so he can go to the post office.”
However, June is already removing some pendants from the display case. “You see, the essence of the body is energy, and crystals function as transformers and amplifiers of various energies that rebalance the system on a cellular level, as well as your emotional, mental, and spiritual levels.”
I'm skeptical that all this mumbo jumbo is simply an effort to make a sale.
June places a bright blue stone in my hand. “Clearing is the process of changing negative emotions into positive ones. Anyone who holds a crystal while experiencing bad energy can imprint those feelings onto the crystal. Repeat the following light invocation three times.” June clasps one of the crystals hanging from her neck, closes her eyes, and chants: “I invoke the Light within. I am a clear and perfect channel. Light is my guide.”
I look out the window to make sure that no one I know is walking by. And I certainly don't close my eyes or chant. But funnily enough, I also feel a tingling. Maybe it's from squeezing the stone so hard, or inhaling too much of the pine-heavy air.
“By the time you've completed the third repetition, the negative emotion should be gone!” June flips open her gold-flecked purple lids. “You see, negative emotions are transferred to the crystal, where they can no longer affect you. Bad energy, whether it's environmental or emotional, can cause you to separate from your body and feel disorientation.”
“That's it!” I practically shout. “I've felt separated from my body ever since my dad died!”
“You can ground yourself back to Mother Earth by being in tune with your crystal at all times.” She selects a few stones and opens a wooden box that contains silver jewelry settings. “I'll make you a pendant with a few different crystals, and that will bring the two yous back together.”
It's very tempting, but all this stuff looks expensive. “Thanks, but money is sort of tight right now.”
June appears horrified. “Don't be ridiculous! It's clear now that when my horoscope showed a stranger on the horizon and I was worried about something catastrophic happening, it actually meant that you were arriving with all of your bad energy! So this is quite a relief. No charge.”
June begins placing different stones into my hand one by one. The first is dark black, smooth, and shiny. She gives an explanation that sounds like an earth-science course taught by a teacher dropping acid.
“Black agate brings the Great Spirit into one's life and attracts good fortune. It also helps overcome fears and loneliness, and has even been known to remove jinxes. It's a hot stone, and so it encourages fertility.”
“I definitely don't think pregnancy would be a good idea at this moment in time.”
Undaunted, June replaces the black agate with a light purple stone. “Amethyst calms and protects the mind. It's called ‘nature's tranquilizer’ by many healers.”
I close my eyes and hold the stone in my hand. No matter how long my palm surrounds it I can still feel the coolness. “Yeah, this is a nice one.”
June is enthusiastic. “Amethyst is also very good for dealing with edginess, emotional despair, and ineffective communication.”
“Check, check, check,” I say.
June places a moss agate in my hand. The stone is dark grayish-green but translucent, with specks of minerals that look like moss or foliage. “This one increases trust and is good for freckled skin.”
“I don't feel anything, and freckles are the least of my problems right now.”
She exchanges the moss agate for a stone that is smooth and dark red.
“Red jasper facilitates astral travel and organization,” says June.
She can see from the look on my face that nothing is happening. June takes off the pendant from around her neck and removes a stunning pink crystal that captures the light from every angle. It's pale and pearly, like clouds at sunset. She places the crystal in the palm of my hand, closes my fingers around it, and bends my arm inward so that my hand is pressed against my chest.
“Rose quartz,” says June in a hushed voice. “It opens and soothes a wounded heart.”
My knees are suddenly weak and I think I'm going to cry.
June guides me to a nearby hoop-back Windsor armchair so that I can sit down before I fall down. I watch as June fashions a necklace with the two stones on a black silk thread and then ties it around my neck.
“You have to let me pay you,” I insist.
“Good karma is my reward.”
“Don't you need the rose quartz for yourself?” I ask.
“Not anymore.” A big smile crosses June's face. “I've recently begun a new chapter in my romantic life and I'm ready to wear green aventurine. It's a prosperity stone that brings luck in love once you've found it.”
Exiting the store in a crystal-induced daze I completely forget about Bernard's package. June has to run out to the car and hand me the little box wrapped in brown paper. So much for Virgos being responsible.
O
H MY PAULETTE GODDARD—JUNE GOT YOU!” SHOUTS BERNARD
the moment I enter the house. “Take that nonsense off right now. You can't tell me that you actually believe in her spiritual claptrap.”
Olivia and Darius are reading the newspaper in the living room, and they both look up to see if I'm wearing an Indian headdress.
When Olivia spies the crystals around my neck, she says, “Leave Hallie alone!” Although there's none of the usual bickering warmth in her voice. Ever since Darius moved in, mother and son have become increasingly frosty toward each other.
The gravel crunches in the driveway and a taxi pulls up. Between people coming for Olivia's stash of morning-after pills that she freely distributes and Bernard's antique drop-offs and pickups, this is not unusual.
A short balding man pays the driver and collects his suitcase from the trunk.
“If it isn't Ottavio!” exclaims Bernard.
Only I get the feeling he's not nearly as surprised as he pretends to be.
Olivia rushes to the window. “What is
he
doing here?”
“He's here for Gil's birthday, of course,” says Bernard.
“That's not for another two months!” she replies.
“The airlines are so unpredictable,” counters Bernard.
Olivia is staring daggers at Bernard, and I honestly think she's considering sonicide. “That's it. We're leaving.”
“What?” says Bernard.
“Darius and I are moving out!” Olivia heads for the stairs.
Bernard looks stunned. He turns toward me.
“The plants are going to die if I don't water them right away!” I race toward the back door.
L
OUISE ARRIVES HOME THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY. SHE WAS ABLE
to work out a deal where if she attends summer school and goes to gym class four days a week instead of two, she can graduate with her class.
Dinnertime feels almost like the old days, except, of course, Dad isn't here. And Pastor Costello is dashing around the kitchen in his T-shirt that says,
JESUS IS COMING—EVERYONE LOOK BUSY.
Mom even makes two birthday cakes—one for Teddy, who is turning thirteen today, and the other for Louise, whose birthday we all missed.
There's a knock on the front door at half past eight and I'm surprised to see Gil standing on the front porch. “Enter at your own risk,” I say.
He winces at all the commotion coming from inside the house. The kids are supposed to be getting ready for bed but run around chasing each other instead. “Any chance you can go AWOL for a little while?”
“Meet me in the backyard in ten minutes.” I point toward the open gate on the side of the house that's clogged with bicycles and a plastic slide.
Mom is in the living room picking up crayons, and I tell her that I'll be out in the backyard talking to Gil.
“Is everything okay with the children?” she immediately asks.
“If you mean children as in Gigi and Rose, they're fine,” I say. “If you're talking about Olivia's child, Bernard, I'm afraid that's a different matter.”
Gil has brought his boom box along and sets it on top of the weathered picnic table. “What was Bernard thinking?” he asks, sounding somewhere between incredibly angry and extremely exhausted.
“I guess he wants to get them back together.”
“Well, this time he has gone
too
far. Olivia and Darius packed up and moved to a bed-and-breakfast over in Timpany.” Gil takes two beers from the cooler bag he brought along and hands me one. “I'm the vice squad tonight.”
The trees and bushes and anthills begin to disappear one by one, whisked away under the magical cloak of evening, and so I don't worry about Mom or Pastor Costello seeing us through a window. The night is warm and a gentle balmy breeze tussles the leaves in the trees. There's the occasional slamming of a screen door as cats and dogs are let in and out, and the
plink plink
of a beginner practicing piano a few houses away. In the next breath it will be summer.