Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series) (29 page)

“
Umeracha Expands Their Award-Winning Portfolio with Shiraz
,” the headline announced.

An envelope fell off the magazine as I leafed through its pages. With increasing curiosity I opened it and found a handwritten note from Camille Weir. Grateful for the excellent article, she congratulated me on my spirit and resilience for putting up with Desmond and hoped I would like the spread and article layout. In her editorial she mentioned my article, as she always does, with the magazine’s main features, describing me as the up and coming, talented young writer the Jourdains had specifically requested. She went on to announce the impending release of what I described as strong wine laced with the eternity of Australian soil, traditional French harvesting methods, and phantom American oak barrels.

I smiled at my own words.

She had included copies of Desmond’s photos—even those that hadn’t made the cut. Apparently, he’d been stressing everyone out wanting to make sure I would get them. She concluded by asking me to get in touch with Helen for future assignments and, thanking me again, signed her note.

I looked at the pictures and had to admit that, even if a colossal pain in the ass, Desmond is one of the best photographers in the business. I loved the shots he’d taken of everybody around the fireplace, like a family gathered for a holiday. My eyes fell on Gabe standing tall right next to Clark, his muscular arm on my shoulder. My own eyes sparkled, alive with the gratitude I felt about their cozy hospitality (not to mention Gabe’s arm wrapped around me).

Lost in the memories, Benedetta’s voice startled me back into the present.

“Got anything to eat?”

“
Buongiorno
to you too.” I stood and motioned for her to follow me to the kitchen where I patted a cushion of one of the table’s chairs and invited her to sit. She plopped down, yawned, and rubbed her sleepy eyes.

I quickly got some toast going and washed and refilled the Moka. Just as I was switching the stove on for another round of espresso, the phone rang. I answered, keeping an eye on the coffee. Despite Eros’s proximity, Peridot stood by the phone looking like a sleepwalker. He made me smile. It must be Evalena.

“Hi, Evalena!”

“You’re getting better.” I could feel her smile.

“My cat is—or has always been.” Peridot blinked at me languidly.

“How are you, hon?”

“I’m fine, Evalena.”

I took the brewed coffee off the stove and poured just enough to wet two teaspoons of sugar I had in a cup. Beating the espresso with the sugar, I made my thick cream base and then added the rest of the steaming coffee.

“Come down for lunch. We’ll chat.”

“Sounds great! Maybe in a little while?” I asked, glancing at Bene. I had an idea.

“Sure. I’ll be home.”

We made arrangements to see one another later and hung up.

I handed Bene a plate of toast and a shot of creamy espresso and sat down in front of her.

“So?”

“So what?” she countered, buttering a piece of toast and looking at me. “Why did you ask which was my favorite fairy tale when we got back from Georgia?”

“Evalena said our favorite choice is an archetype of the women we are.”

Benedetta smirked. “Of course . . .
The Ugly Duckling
.”

“Bene! What’s going on with you?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, sneaking two fingers under her lenses, and rubbed her eyes again. “You know,” she began, “after my accident I had to deal with a lot of fear.” She sat back and looked at me with grief-stricken eyes. “I had to learn to live with it. I mourned my ability to take my safety for granted and slowly took baby steps into this new, unfamiliar territory of ordinary tasks now mutated into potential dangers and perils.

“When they locked my assailant in jail, I relaxed but still dreaded the day he would be free. Eros and my beliefs have helped a great deal, but as I told you in Savannah, I’m a mere solitary practitioner. I’m learning to face the eventuality that I may confront him again, and I am trying to understand how to
deal
with that particular situation or any other similar and dangerous ones.”

She sighed and I had a feeling I knew where this was going. “A life with The Craft, a choice that not many understand nor appreciate, allows me to be free, but in order to deal with my fears I am feared.”

I leaned forward and took her hand. “Benedetta . . . you can’t doubt who you are just because of Jason.”

“I know. Remember how he insisted it was just an ordinary fungus? But where did the fungus come from? Where do our fears come from, Porzia? He’s always been scared of his mother’s Santeria ways and he’s boarded the door shut on magic.” A look of determination cracked the surface of her wretched features. “I mourn the fearless girl I used to be before I almost died. But this renewed inner strength sprouts from mystical, ancient beliefs that I have embraced and now honor. I shed my old identity and recreated this Benedetta from such enormous loss . . . I would never have made it. I would never have been able to help Delilah! Or scare that freak that tried to sell us voodoo tickets if it weren’t for my belief in the Goddess. I have come such a long way and now, at last, I respect myself again.” She sighed. “What I’m trying to explain here, Porzia, is that we’re changing. As women we’re honoring our true selves and we are taking risks; we’re paying a price that I believe is worth it. Even if it means the Jasons of this world will refuse us. I only wish it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

I nodded somberly. “I feel it.”

“I know you do. You’re manifesting your own renewal. You wouldn’t have embarked on this soul mate quest otherwise.”

Later that evening, making a mental note of the time, I gave Gabe a call. After several rings his answering machine picked up.

I left him a brief message to let him know I was trying to reach him, hung up, and then dialed his work number.

Clark answered.

In an extremely distressed voice, he told me Gabe had decided on the spur of the moment to jump in a vehicle with Gomi and follow the
ute
they were sponsoring in the Australian Safari—literally. He told me Gabe hadn’t called me because he knew it would have been the middle of the night for me and that although he doubted he would have a signal so far in the outback, he would call as soon as he got a chance. Clark concluded by saying that I shouldn’t worry—he was worrying enough already. Something is his words held my smile back. I asked him how long Gabe planned to be gone. Clark said he thought it would probably be the better part of a week. He told me that because of unseasonable rain in the desert things were heating up. I imagined a muddy Gabe grinning from ear to ear as he pushed a sport utility vehicle stuck in sludge.

I tried to comfort Clark and thanked him before I hung up to try Gabe’s cell phone, but I had no luck, not even his voice mail.

So, his fever was still brewing . . .

*

I drove across the Gulf Breeze Bridge to Evalena’s house thinking that Benedetta had ended up giving
me
guidance.

She and Rex still lived at her jolly yellow bungalow in Gulf Breeze. Hurricane Erin had wiped away the connecting road from Pensacola Beach to Navarre Beach, and reconstruction was taking forever. How tired they must be of waiting.

I parked my car by a chubby blue hydrangea and walked up the porch to knock on the door. Evalena answered promptly, her hands green with bits of chopped up parsley. She pushed the screen door open with her elbow. “Come on in, honey. I’m making couscous.” She smiled at me. “I would hug you but I’m sure you don’t want parsley all over you.”

“It’s OK. I’ll hug you instead.” I gave her a nice squeeze, veering away from the green hands, and followed her into the kitchen.

Her table displayed a battlefield. A big ceramic bowl heaping with fluffy couscous waited to be dressed with a colorful palette of veggies and roasted chicken.

“Have a seat and excuse the mess,” she told me, resuming her parsley chopping.

“Do you want a hand?”

“Sure. You could chop the tomatoes.”

I took a cluster of ripe tomatoes still attached to the vine and rinsed them under cold water. “Would you like them peeled?”

“No, thanks, they’re organic.”

“This looks delicious,” I told her. “I was with Benedetta and we just had some toast and coffee.” I munched on a bit of chicken.

Evalena dumped a handful of fragrant parsley into the couscous. The bright green herb brought out the cooked grain’s pale yellow color. She added the chopped tomatoes, roasted chicken, steamed carrots halved and cut in bite-size pieces, raisins plumped up in orange juice, and bright red slices of roasted peppers. A generous pour of extra virgin olive oil went in last. She tossed everything with a large wooden spoon, added salt and fresh ground pepper, and then scooped a heaping pile into a bowl for me.

“Thanks.” I grabbed a spoon.

“Here.” She handed me a glass of her famous iced tea, took a seat next to me, and poured herself a glass as well.

“We’re home alone?” I asked, looking around.

“Rex went to check on the construction progress down in Navarre.”

“I meant to ask you about that. How is it going?”

“Ever so slow. We don’t even have a driveway yet.” She took a sip of the tea. “How’s the couscous?”

“It looks delicious.” I took the first bite. I looked at her with my mouth full and gave her thumbs up.

She grinned.

Perhaps I ought to write an article about Evalena and the benefits of esoteric cuisine,
I thought, taking a sip of her tea. Don’t get me started on her tea.

“How’s Gabe?” she asked after giving me a chance to wolf down almost the entire bowl.

“Fine. Made it home
knackered
, and his father just told me he’s following the Australian Safari with his head mechanic.” I took a long sip of tea.

“And what is your heart telling you?”

Accidenti! Talk about a straight-to-the-core question!

“My heart is worried at the moment.” I looked at her, hesitating, wondering whether to share
all
my worries. “You mean I can talk to him through my heart?”

Evalena smiled. “Of course you can.”

“How?”

“Find him in the space between heartbeats. Then fill that space with the message you want to send him. Cast it out there on the next breath, over and over until you believe it has reached him.”

“Is this something you’ve done before?” I remembered, without knowing of the technique, I had tried something of that sort in Savannah. Perhaps magic is an innate quality.

“Ancient tribes didn’t have e-mail, Porzia. Communicating with their hearts was—and perhaps still is—at the root of drumming. They used their hearts and their drums, beating in unison, to cast prayers, to send heavenly messages, to offer gratitude to the gods.”

“At any given time?”

“Well, some moments are more favorable than others, but truly speaking, I believe when he’s most present in your heart is probably the best. Don’t you think?”

“What would I do without you?”

“Oh, you’d get there on your own,” she said, refilling my glass. “So what’s next?”

“I’m flying to Miami tomorrow to meet with Camille Weir, the editor in chief of
A’ la Carte
.”

“A business proposal?”

“I don’t know, Evalena. I guess so,” I ventured. “She’s too professional to fly freelancers around just to impress them.”

“Make sure to wear blue.”

“Why?” I asked, mentally running through my closet.

“Soothing, calming, reflective.”

“OK, I will.”

“Plus, I read in
Cosmo
it increases your chances of getting the job by twenty-seven percent.” She winked.

“Oh! You’re impossible!” I laughed.

She shrugged. “Any other assignments after this trip?”

“Oregon and Washington, to check out some wineries up there.”

“Ah! Now that’s an interesting destination.” She cast me a look that made me suspect she might have had one of her visions about my impending trip.

“Have you ever been?”

“Once. Mystical grounds all over up there. Great healing for a sabbatical.” She sipped her tea silently for few minutes. And then she dropped the bomb: “Porzia, how is your friend Benedetta? I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her yet.”

“Yes.” I took a long breath and slowly let it out. “I think you two should talk.”

*

Although I truly felt I had done the right thing, I drove home second-guessing my instinct.

I opened the door and pushed Peridot back inside with one foot. I kicked my sandals off and walked straight to my wardrobe. I saw the dress Gabe had bought me in New Orleans and for a second I toyed with the idea of shocking Camille. With Evalena’s advice in mind, I pulled out an ocean-blue silk dress I’d bought in France last time I went to visit Joséphine. I eyed it critically. I had matching high-heeled sandals and a shawl that would work great with it.

I grabbed my overnight carry-on bag and began to pack. I set my laptop aside and made a mental note to remember to add it to the bag in the morning along with my toiletries. Peridot walked into the bedroom and jumped in my open suitcase. “It’s only for one day,
micio
,” I told him, scratching his chin. He looked up at me through emerald slits and meowed loudly. I chuckled at his unrestrained disapproval and played with him until we ended up with the old ritual of hide and seek. It was frightening how good he was getting at it; a couple of times he startled me to the point of screams. But I had him jumping as well, his tail all fluffed up as he scurried away while I chased him. I had crawled under the kitchen table trying to grab him when the phone rang, and in the rush to answer, I banged my head on the solid wood.

Mamma mia! Che dolore!

I massaged what I knew would soon turn into a huge bump as I answered the phone.

“Cheers, luv. Can you hear me?”

“Gabe!” My knees gave and I sank slowly onto the floor. “How are you? Where are you? Are you all right?”

His laughter reached me, warming up my heart. “I’m OK. We’re OK. Gomi is here with me and besides some sore bones from going from airplane to sleeping bag on hard sand I’m OK.”