Save My Soul (6 page)

Maggie forced a laugh. She didn't believe it. At least she didn't want to believe it. Still, Crystal did as Crystal pleased, as long as the stars were aligned. Maggie raised her face to heaven.

Jordon slid his beer across the table. “You need this more than I do.”

She actually contemplated a sip. Instead, she smiled and pushed the itch deeper into her gut while she stuffed empty sushi containers into paper bags.

“Thanks, but you can keep your beer.” She set the can in front of him. “Numbing emotions doesn't solve anything.”

Raising the beer to his mouth, Jordon stared at her while he drained the can. “Then let me show you to your room.”

The itch covered her entire body.

“You're assuming I'm staying, Mr. Kemmons.”

“You're still here, aren't you?”

Maggie sucked a steady stream of cool air into her nose. “Fine. I'll stay until Carlos is cleared to be alone or until you find a suitable replacement, whichever comes first.”

Jordon stood and held out his hand.

She waved him off. “I want those terms in writing.”

He chuckled. “Of course. You can take the guest room across from Carlos's room. There's a lock on the door … in case you get scared.”

Maggie flashed a snotty smile. “I'm not scared of anything, Mr. Kemmons.”
Not even you
, she gulped.

“Good night … Maggie.”

He definitely lingered on the M.

A black spider dangled from the ceiling above Maggie's guest suite bed. His lithe body bounced a few feet from her face, and she froze with fear.

I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid.
The words ran through her mind like a mantra.

But she was afraid. Her heart pounded in her throat and perspiration dripped off her forehead. She drew a quivering breath, preparing to speak, but the spider plummeted, and she rolled out of bed, hitting the hardwood floor.

Strange. She remembered a carpeted floor. With one eye on her surroundings and the other hunting for the spider, Maggie zipped backward and slammed against a pair of strong legs. She scurried around on all fours to see Paul and Katherine standing over her.

You're misjudging me. Can't you see who I am?
Their lips didn't move.

She dropped her head, and the spider appeared beside her right hand.

Save me.

Maggie bolted upright in bed. She raised a hand to her pulsing chest and steadied her breathing. Sunlight lined the cracks of window blinds, and she realized she'd slept late. Morning dreams were always the most powerful, and this one perplexed her. Reaching to the bedside table, she grabbed her phone, hoping Crystal could interpret the dream before Maggie took another stab at interpreting Carlos.

Thirty minutes later, a freshly showered Maggie sulked. Carlos was awake, but he wouldn't get out of bed, and Crystal wouldn't answer the phone. Jordon left for the airport before Maggie woke, leaving her alone, ornery and homesick.

Spreading a blanket from the upstairs linen closet across the lowest tier of decking, she sat and crossed her legs, resting her hands on her knees. She didn't chant this time. Instead, she focused on her breathing and imagined her spine stretching to the cloudless sky. She counted ten deep breaths and raised her arms over her head, sweeping them down again, feeling the morning air dance across her skin.

After a few more sweeps with her arms, she rolled onto all fours and tilted her tail bone before she curled her spine, repeating the motion over and over again with her eyes soft and focused on the rippling water. When she'd completed the entire sequence of postures, she sat with the stillness until she opened herself to enough peace and positive light to continue with the day. Folding the blanket, she padded her bare feet into the house.

Carlos sat on the couch, watching newlyweds choose between three Cape Cod-style homes. House Number Three had an in-ground swimming pool and sloping backyard.

“Pretty,” Maggie said as she draped the blanket over the back of the couch. “But I bet they don't pick that one. They seem too traditional. She'll be pregnant within the year, and the pool and yard aren't child-friendly.” She didn't expect him to reply. She was simply tired of talking to herself.

“One and Two are far from work. He goes downtown. They have one car. He wants to bike … or walk.” Carlos spoke perfect English with a melodic accent.

Maggie grabbed the couch and held her breath.

“See. They picked Three,” Carlos muttered.

She stole a glance at him. He harbored great sadness in the lines of his face. “You were right. Good call.” She didn't want to push. Eventually they would talk about what happened in the lake, but not now. Now she needed to establish trust, let him know she was his ally.

Maggie walked to the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Can I make you lunch?”

“No.”

Since she hadn't called Bernie to arrange a trip to the supermarket, the only remaining piece of fruit was a wrinkled peach — at least she thought it was a peach. She closed the refrigerator door and started digging through the cupboards.

“Do you do yoga every day?”

Maggie closed the cupboard door and turned. Carlos stood on the other side of the kitchen island, leaning over the gritty Hibachi grill, studying her with flat eyes.

“I try to. It's good to have a routine. Routines help even out the high and low points of a day.” She smiled. “You're welcome to join me.”

He seemed to think about her offer, and she wondered if his face was always round or if the crying made it extra puffy.

“Paris. I saw this one.” Carlos looked at the giant flat screen hanging above the fire place. “They pick the place in Le Marais.”

Maggie didn't know whether to laugh, cry or drop to her knees and thank the Universal Good. For whatever reason, Carlos was talking, and she wanted to keep it that way. “I love Paris. Would it be okay if I watched with you, or did you have something else to do?”

He bit into his wheat-colored bottom lip, contemplating again. “We can watch.”

When he shuffled off, Maggie followed.

By evening, her head throbbed and her stomach cramped, but she'd spent almost seven hours with Carlos. They learned that real deals lurked south of Decatur, Georgia, buying property in the Italian countryside meant more than likely some part of your ancient home would be falling down, and Kelly Clarkson didn't receive enough screen time early on in Season One of
American Idol.

There were other lessons in there too, like through observation, Maggie discovered Carlos had a tattoo of a crucifix on his right bicep. The faded, blue artwork appeared when he raised his arm to point at the crystal blue waters of Fiji. “Like home.”

He didn't say another word about his island nation, and Maggie refused to push. At the moment, she didn't care if he spoke another word all night. Crystal's voice was the one she wanted to hear.

The woman still wasn't answering the phone or returning Maggie's messages. Between the hunger and the worry and the realization that the kitchen harbored more animal products than a zoo, Maggie felt defeated and unable to fully enjoy the strides she'd made with Carlos.

Visions of vegetarian Pad Thai danced in her head.

“Special delivery.” Bernie carried two arms full of plastic grocery bags into the kitchen where he deposited them onto the counter.

Maggie jumped to her feet. The lack of food in her stomach and the sudden movement caused a splotchy spinning in her head. “What is this?”

“You gotta eat, Dr. Collins. Why didn't you call me?”

“I didn't want to bother you.” That, and she didn't want her focus to leave Carlos.

“It's my job. You gotta let me earn my living,” he said with a smile.

Maggie dipped into the nearest bag. Fresh apples, crisp lettuce, firm red and green peppers. Her mouth watered.

She pulled another bag toward her. Tofu, almonds, walnuts, cashews. She nearly exploded from an overabundance of joy.

With Bernie's help, she put away six bags filled with foods from apples to zucchinis. When she'd stacked the last can of legumes on a shelf, she closed the cupboard door and hugged the large man with all her might.

His laughter bounced her body. “What's this for?”

“Thank you.”

He was still laughing when she pulled away and peeled back the plastic top on the almonds. She filled her hand and popped the nuts, one after the other, into her hungry mouth. “Soy milk too! I'm amazed. How are you such a vegetarian food expert?”

“Boss Man called to see if you called me. When I said no, he emailed me a list. You owe him that hug.”

The words painted an image in her head, and a flame shot between her breasts, curling around her throat. She shuddered and popped another almond into her mouth. “I'm forever grateful, Bernie. What do I owe you?”

He balked and stuffed his hands in his pocket to jingle his keys. “Boss Man pays for everything. I'm just the driver. And right now, I gotta drive some chocolate chips to my girls. You take care, Dr. Collins, and you call me when you need something. You hear? You too, Carlos.”

Bernie craned his thick neck toward the living room, and Maggie was surprised to see Carlos wave. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. Maybe Carlos was more stable than she thought.

If only she could say the same thing about her mother. Thousands of miles stretched out between them, and there was still no peace to be found.

Once Maggie's belly was full and her head was clear, she tried calling Crystal again.

“Blessings.” Crystal answered the phone with her usual sing-song greeting.

Maggie skipped the sigh of relief. “I wish you would get a cell phone.”

Folding her long legs underneath her, Maggie rested her left elbow on the arm of the chair Jordon filled the night before. She scanned the twinkling lights around the perimeter of the lake. Most of the glows came from distant houses, but an occasional moving light accompanied by a low rumbling signaled a boat.

“Magpie, cellular telephones rob us of privacy and peace. Besides, they cause cancer.” Her tsk-tsks echoed over the line. “The older you get, the more you embrace the physical world. It should be the other way around. Let go of your attachments.”

She was trying, but it wasn't working. Maggie thought of the refrigerator hidden behind plain cabinetry to her left. Chardonnay sounded good, but under the circumstances she worried she'd drink the whole bottle.

And she needed to be sober for this conversation.

“Are you attached to Paul and Katherine?” Maggie nibbled on the end of her nail and followed a blowing leaf as it tumbled across the deck through a path of light from the living room.

“That's not the kind of attachment I'm talking about, and you know it. Your ideology is straying from the universal, and I'm worried. As far as Paul goes, he's a lovely man.”

“He's also a married man who's attached to a woman who doesn't speak. That doesn't strike you as odd?”

“Darling, she's submitting to his will. You and I may not understand that, but it's her reality and where she finds comfort.”

Maggie's shoulders rose sharply, and her chest stung with cold night air. Crystal was right. Who was Maggie to judge? And yet it would be easier not to judge if her mother wasn't potentially mixed up in this. “Aren't you happy with your life the way it is? You don't need them.”

“I wouldn't restrict myself the opportunity to know any soul unless that soul was void of light. I'm happy with life because I'm detached, Magpie. My worldly goods are minimal. I love freely and without fear of loss. It's taken me many years to get to this stage in my enlightenment, and I have no intention of losing ground.”

The words were meant to reassure, but as Maggie closed her eyes and listened to her mother rambling about the benefits of detachment, she doubted more than she ever had. This was her life of extremes. One moment Maggie was a competent professional, helping challenged clients settle into mainstream society, the next she was deciphering her mother's teachings, a mix of the world's greatest religions, peppered with bizarre, lesser-known spiritual practices. Crystal warped the Buddhist practice of detachment into something Maggie had difficulty understanding. To Crystal, loving freely meant walking away on a whim, even from her daughter. Where Maggie thought sex complicated things, Crystal disagreed, saying physical relationships enhanced both the life and soul experiences. Maggie couldn't figure out how to benefit from those enhancements without becoming attached.

“It's about giving.” Crystal had said, when Maggie was only eight. A naked man was playing an acoustic guitar in Crystal's bedroom, and Maggie remembered feeling scared and confused. Later on and over the years, Crystal restated her position a million times. “Sex is the ultimate act of giving. The minute you make it about receiving, you risk desire and attachment too great to overcome.”

While other mothers preached about teen pregnancies and STDs, Maggie's mother preached about having sex without expecting anything in return. Was it any wonder Maggie was so confused?

Believing wholeheartedly in the Law of Attraction, Maggie always thought the time she spent worried about saving wayward souls attracted more souls in need, but the more she thought about it, the more she wondered if Jordon's impression of her wasn't right. Maybe she was … flaky. In that case, it would make sense for her to attract other … flakes.

“That's why Paul's offer is attractive.”

Maggie's wandering mind rocketed to attention. “What offer?”

“Sorry, Magpie. My company has arrived. Love and light, darling.”

The line clicked, and no matter how hard Maggie concentrated on breathing, the panic rose. What was Paul's offer? She should've paid closer attention. Dancing her fingers over the touch screen, she hoped and prayed, but Crystal never answered.