Moondance (40 page)

chapter 65

AFTER LEAVING THE CASA, Althea picked up her rental car and drove south toward Zambujeira do Mar. The further south she drove, the hotter the sun and the bluer the sky. She caught her breath as she saw the ocean up close for the first time, its rugged rocks, and light sand beaches, spectacular, deserted and inviting. She stopped for lunch at a seaside café, and ate Plate Caldeirada De Peixe, or fish stew with potatoes and vegetables.

She arrived at Monte do Papa Leguas in the mid-afternoon. The Monte was situated inside a vast property, just a mile away from the beach of Zambujeira do Mar. She pulled her rented Volkswagen Polo under a thatched roof providing shade. She got out, and was greeted by a woman with coarse, wavy hair, a low, husky voice and a wide grin. Althea liked Fatima immediately. Her hostess waved her over to a table where she sat with a young couple, and a number of maps. She explained where the local restaurants were and how they could reach the many nearby beaches that dotted the rugged coastline.

“I’ve been open for six years. You’re the first Canadian I’ve ever had here.” Althea’s room had whitewashed walls, with blue trim, an antique iron bed with a Portuguese cotton bedspread, and antique linen curtains. She headed to the pool, clutching a book under her arm.

That night, she drank vinho verde and ate grilled sea bass, fresh octopus salad, and raspberries with cream at a tiny, rustic fishing port restaurant. During the meal, her book kept her company.

The next day, she rode one of the bikes provided by the hotel into the center of Zambujeira, where she sat and sipped icy Sagres beer at a café overlooking the ocean. After a lunch of fresh, grilled sardines, she walked across the town’s beach, and up a steep incline beyond. The plants here were lush and wild. Half-way up the incline, a painted, wooden sign designated the area a protected national park. The hill was steep, and her leg muscles burned. As she walked, she heard the hiss of the sea, though she couldn’t see beyond the dirt road in front of her.

As she reached the top of the precipice, she caught her breath. Rocks jutted dramatically, rough and wild, forming a cluster of cliffs along the coastline. A hundred yards down, nestled between the rock, was a sand beach, and beyond that, the aquamarine of the sea. In the distance, a man walked on the beach alone, naked, the waves splashing up around his thighs. Every cell of her body was drawn to the water. She scanned the rock face and found a path to the beach.

She took pictures of the ocean, the rock, finishing her film. There was no way she could adequately capture the rugged, breathtaking beauty of this place. She slowly made her way down the other side of the incline toward the beach. The man she saw naked on the beach was nowhere in sight. She thought about the man she used to run into years ago, before Daniel. A green-eyed man, she knew, though she had never seen his eyes up close. She still wondered who he was, still thought about him sometimes.

Her feet finally met with sand and she took off her shoes.

Althea had spent summers at Sophie’s close to a lake, and at least one holiday a year at Tori’s family’s cottage in Muskoka. She was used to lakes, but the power of the ocean humbled her and took her breath away. She walked to the edge of the water tentatively, and it caught around her ankles. When it receded, she sunk into the sand.
She removed her t-shirt, then her shorts. After a moment’s hesitation, she took off the rest of her clothes. Sitting down in the water when a wave came in, she let the water turn her, stinging and cold. When it receded, she pushed her heels into the sand, and waited for the next wave to lift her.

Later, she sat in a crevice in the rock, her journal between her knees, and wrote. That day, and every day until she left Portugal, she sat by the ocean. Scene after scene unfolded: a seduction by a green-eyed man, a dance with demons, a dialogue on a white gravel path, circles upon circles. They weren’t scenes that built on one another at all. They didn’t even seem to be related.

She had no idea what was she writing.

chapter 66

AS ALTHEA ENTERED HER SILENT apartment after returning from Portugal, it was like stepping back in time. There was no phone or email messages from Daniel. Her heart was heavy. Welcome back.

She thought she had given herself enough time. She thought she had changed. She thought she was over it. Maybe she should have stayed away longer. She fell into bed, her bags abandoned. On her side, her hands knotted close to her body and her face broke. She sobbed audibly. Through her tears, she immersed herself in the purity of her grief, and as the waves coursed through her body, she followed, a willing vessel. When she emerged, Daniel had faded into a grain of sand.
He was just a reminder, my love. Of the beginning
. As the voice came, she squeezed her eyes tight, and through a red haze, Tori sat with her head in her hands and Kevin stared at her with wide eyes and as her body convulsed in new depths of despair, she asked the one question that none of her books had sufficiently answered.

Why had this happened to her?

A familiar whisper:
You know
.

She slept fitfully, and awoke to a warm pinch on her toe. Albert perched on the foot of her bed. Her heart drained, her eyes slits, she took in his lined face and chocolate eyes.
Just like she remembered
.

“Still ticklish, wee one?” Althea was five years old again, looking up as he tucked her into bed. She spoke to him though her mouth wasn’t moving.

“Less and less.”

“I can see that from here. From here, when people change, they change color.”

“Have I changed color?”

“Yes. And you will continue.”

“Are you going to take me for a walk?” Albert tossed back his head and laughed, patting her foot.

“You’re on the ground, one-two steps down. No, no,” Albert chuckled. “This time we’re stayin’ right here.”

“I was away and it was okay. Now I’m back and it’s the same. I thought I understood.”

“Where do you feel that understanding, wee one?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your new understanding. Where does it live? In your body, where does it live?” Althea frowned.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The gap between understanding in your mind and knowing in your heart can feel a million miles wide.”

“Now I don’t know if I understand anything.”

“Okay, let’s say it this way. Close the gap.
That’s
where you’re walking.”

“How do I do that?”

“Right now, you need to make room. Then you need to look deeper. You’re ready, wee one.”

“How do you know?”

“Your color says so.”

Althea blinked and Albert was gone.
Make room. Look deeper
. She drifted off, and when the image came, all at once, she couldn’t get out of bed fast enough, as if the thought she had would disappear forever if she didn’t act on it now.

The bottom of her antique chest was lined with dozens of unsent, unopened letters. As she stared at them, she felt an adrenaline rush, her urgency mounting. She placed the letters in a mound on the floor. One at a time, she opened them, her own words of hurt, anger and confusion glaring and raw, just like yesterday.
Make room
.

In her kitchen, the vent fan over the stove whirred to life. Under-neath the fan, she placed a large metal bowl. One by one, she
added the letters to the bowl, using a match to light each corner. The letters burned quickly, flames darting over the bowl’s edge. The heat stung her face. With the fan still running, she dug into her carry-on bag until she found her journal. She flipped through the first couple of pages, ripping them out one at a time and dropping them in the bowl, watching as the flames came to life.

Around and around and around they danced
... she stared at her own handwriting. Her heart flipped, a bashful twinge. She moved to rip the page out, and then hesitated. She closed the journal and put it at the bottom of the chest.
Look deeper
. The smell of charred and smoldering paper pungent in her nostrils, she rummaged through her suitcase until she found the book she was looking for.

On her knees, she opened it and began to read.

• • •

A WEEK LATER, ALTHEA stood nervously across the road from a house that she knew. A house with stained glass and crescent-shaped windows. The house that had grinned at her. Her heart thumped painfully. She checked the address. It was this house. And it was too big a coincidence to ignore.

Fighting the fear mounting inside, she knocked on the door.

chapter 67

INSECTS GNAWING HER STOMACH, Althea sat uneasily across from a tall woman with coffee-colored skin, long hair and bangs. Dutch, a floppy brindle boxer with a missing front paw, curled up at the woman’s feet. The brightly lit room smelled of potpourri, but softer. Vanilla? It felt suffocating to her.

“What can I do for you?” Ivana asked. Althea’s fear was palpable. She wondered why she had come. She coughed in an attempt to dissolve
her panic, and struggled to keep her voice even.

“As I mentioned, I’ve read your book. To be honest, I don’t know if I believe in what you do. But I’m here for some reason.”
To look deeper
. A tall, bookish man with thinning hair, pewter glasses and a tweed jacket delivered a ceramic pot of jasmine tea and Ivana poured her a cup. The wood floors creaked under his feet as he left. Althea wanted to follow him out.

“You’re right to be skeptical,” Ivana said. “It’s healthy and I can handle it. So what are you interested in today?”

“Career. Relationships. Why things have happened to me.” Her face flushed. If Ivana noticed, she did not show it.

“All the usual suspects. So let’s dive right in. Althea, on a scale of one to ten — how well do you understand your emotional life?”

“I’d say two out of ten. Truthfully, I’m feeling so much right now that I’m scaring the shit out of myself.” Saying the words unearthed a visceral ache, and with it, an unfathomable remorse. She wanted to lay down, curl up.
She wanted to get out of there
. Ivana’s voice was like a beacon.

“Congratulations,” Ivana said.

“For what?”

“For having the courage to ask. It’s perfect that you’re feeling so much right now. You know why?” Althea sat motionless. She couldn’t speak.
How could that be perfect?

“Because that’s why you’re here: to understand the depths of your emotions. What you want to do is figure out how to turn that two — into a ten.” Althea’s own voice sounded like a croak to her.

“My emotions are my moon, right?”

“Let’s back up a bit.” Ivana pulled out a piece of paper, containing
a circle divided into twelve. Within the circle, were a number of symbols, representing planets. This was, Althea knew, her astrological chart.

“How much do you know about Taurus and Scorpio,” Ivana asked.

“Taurus is stubborn and boring. Scorpio is obsessed with sex and death.” Ivana laughed and Althea relaxed a bit.

“You’re not wrong and there’s more to it than that. They are opposite sides of the same coin and in your chart, they represent your soul’s path over lifetimes. In simplest terms, your karma is Taurus, which is a practical earth sign, and your purpose is to become more like Scorpio, which is an emotional water sign. So your soul’s journey is to move from lifetimes of Taurus, where you’ve trusted your senses, to Scorpio, where you trust your instincts. In past lifetimes, you’ve been good at making money and building security. In this lifetime, you’re learning how to dig deep inside yourself, and leave everything and everyone that doesn’t work for you behind.”

“New beginnings. Like the Death card in the tarot.”

“Exactly. Your moon in mystical Pisces is your emotional core, a part of your personality which will assist you. Now describe your experiences at work for me.”

“My work life has been a nightmare.” Althea briefly recounted her experiences at Continuum and her dismissal from Bering and Associates. She didn’t mention Daniel.

“Well, think of it this way. Making money is a skill you have — but it isn’t why you’re here. Your soul path is Scorpio in your sixth house of work, so work definitely plays a role in your life — it’s just a different type of work than you’ve been used to. So now tell me this. What is your passion?” Althea didn’t hesitate.
She had known all along
.

“It’s writing.”

“Good. Gemini the writer is in your second house of earned income.
What do you write about?” Althea thought about her letter to Daniel, and those that she had destroyed the week before.
Around and round and round they spun
...

“Nothing right now.”

“If you wanted to, you could make a living writing. Why did you stop?”

“I don’t know.” Yes you do.
Knows me
. Althea’s body went rigid.

“I think you do,” Ivana echoed, and Althea felt the emotion rising up again, opening her, tears stinging, her heart raw.
Guilt, shame, something else
. Ivana passed her a tissue. Haltingly, she told Ivana about Kevin and Tori.