California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances (26 page)

“I suppose not. I don’t know. It’s so confusing. I used to know exactly what I needed to do. Now, I don’t know what I want. Or, I do know what I want, but can’t seem to get it. At least I think I know what I want. Oh, Elizabeth, I’m all mixed up.”

“Is the coach helping at all?”

“I think she’s the reason I’m all muddled. Maybe it’s one of those things that has to get worse before it gets better.” Annie hesitated. “I did something today I’ve never done before. I went to a psychic.”

“Why?”

“I’m so confused — I’m looking for anyone who will give me a clear answer!”

Elizabeth laughed. “So what did she … or he … have to say?”

Annie told her of the psychic’s predictions that someone would come into her life who would help her. “She wants me to write my life story and get a body worker, whatever that is. You know what’s weird, though?” Annie asked. “As soon as I got home I got this strange message from Facebook. A woman with the last name of Gerhard was trying to connect.”

“Do you know who she is?”

“No, but I made the connection anyway. Maybe tomorrow I can find out more about her. She looks like my dad … only, I don’t know.”

“What?”

“This woman, Beverly, looks happy.”

“What’s so odd about that?”

“I don’t ever remember seeing my father happy. He would be happy-drunk or happy-manic. Sometimes I had the feeling he was faking ‘happy,’ but I never saw him with the peace that was in this woman’s face.”

“Maybe she’s peaceful because she’s doing what she wants instead of what she should,” Elizabeth said softly.

“Ouch.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. It’s what I want for you — peace from the inside out. The idea that your dad was often faking ‘happy’? Sometimes I think you do that, too.”

Annie pondered the statement. “You may have a point. I feel like I should be happy. My kid’s okay — most of the time. I have a nice home and money enough. And I have good friends.” She smiled. “But … ”

The word lingered in the silence.

“ … I feel like there’s something more — something I’m missing.”

“Maybe you should do what the psychic said,” Elizabeth suggested.

“I feel like I’ve been writing out my life story forever,” Annie said with a groan. “Every shrink I’ve ever been to, Al-Anon, they all want me to write my story. I know it by heart. And where would I find a body worker? What is it anyway — a glorified massage therapist?”

“I don’t know about the life story. I’ve never done one,” Elizabeth confessed. “I do know a body worker though. I went to her after Joe died.”

“You never told me that!”

“It never came up. Besides, that’s before we met. It really helped. I can’t tell you why.”

“What was it like?”

“It was as if she massaged out all the hurt in my muscles. She’d give me a massage and ask me questions along the way. Sometimes I’d start crying when she worked on a particular part of my body. She stuck with it and I cried until I was done. Every time I went, I felt a little more of the grief and despair go away.”

“How long did you see her?”

“Six weeks. I’ll give you her name, if you want.”

“Sure.” Annie glanced at the blank paper on the kitchen table. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Why?” Elizabeth sounded wary.

“You can help me with my next assignment from the coach.”

“What’s that?” Elizabeth asked warily.

“Thinking of ways for me to earn money without moving to New Jersey.”

“That sounds like fun!”

“Only to you. I’m an absolute disaster at the assignment.”

“That’s because you haven’t thought of the really bizarre things there are out there to do. You could write fortune cookie fortunes. Or deliver singing telegrams.”

“Wait until tomorrow. Then you can think of as many weird jobs as you want!” When Annie hung up the phone, her heart was lighter.

She stayed home the following day to keep an eye on her son. The doctor had advised her to keep him home a day to ensure that the concussion wasn’t worse than it appeared. She idly went through her work e-mail. It was finally dwindling as the project closed down. A few more reports and it would be done. No new work was coming in and there was no message from Jim about the job in New Jersey. The laid-off limbo.

Bored, she logged onto Facebook to check out the woman who had contacted her — Beverly Gerhard. If her father were still alive, Beverly would be about his age. Annie searched the Internet for more information. Apparently, the woman had been a well-known modern dancer, working with Alvin Ailey’s American Dance Theater as a performer and then a teacher. Photos showed a woman performing an astounding leap, legs muscle-carved, her pale skin standing out against the predominantly black ensemble.

She had to be a relative. But how? Annie glanced at the phone. Would her mother know? Sighing, she dialed her mother’s number. It had been close to a month since she’d spoken to her and it was about time, much as she dreaded the conversation.

“Hi, Mom,” she said when her mother picked up. “How are you doing?”

“I thought I’d never hear from you again. It’s been so long.”

“Only a few weeks.”

“Good daughters call their mothers weekly. You know I’ve been so lonely since … since … your dad died.”

“Mom, he’s been gone close to twenty years. I think it’s time to move on.”

“You know I can’t do that. He was my life.”

Annie sighed inwardly. They had the same discussion every time she called. Her mother lived in a fantasy world where the man who had beaten her regularly was Prince Charming. No matter what tactics Annie had tried, her mother had stuck with her beliefs. The woman who had kept her safe growing up was gone, destroyed by too many years of her father’s abuse. Annie had eventually learned to quit trying to bring her back.

“Mom, do you know who Beverly Gerhard is?”

“That tramp. Has she been bothering you? I swear, there’s no privacy these days — everyone poking their noses into someone else’s business. When I was growing up, everyone knew what went on in a family was private. Now everyone’s trying to run someone else’s life. I — ”

“Mom!” Annie raised her voice to interrupt her mother’s diatribe. “Who is she?”

“Your father’s sister. She disobeyed your grandfather. Got herself knocked up and wouldn’t marry the guy your grandfather picked out for her. Said she had things to do, packed up her suitcase, and left town.” Her mother’s voice dropped to a whisper. “We heard she had an
abortion.
The tramp wouldn’t even keep her baby.”

Stunned, Annie couldn’t say a word. An aunt — she had an aunt she’d never even known about, an aunt who’d made a career as a modern dancer in a famous dance troop.

Her mother launched back into her favorite speech about the deterioration of the world, caused by women’s libbers, liberals, and hoards of illegal immigrants. Annie let her ramble as she mulled over the news that she had an aunt and possibly a cousin. When her mother ran down, she made excuses about needing to take David somewhere, promised she’d call again in a few weeks and hung up the phone. She hadn’t told her mother about the impending layoff. If her mother cared at all, which was unlikely, she would blame Annie for losing her job.

Annie was clearing up after dinner when Elizabeth pushed the door open and called, “I’m here and I’m ready!” She tossed a heap of magazines and books on the kitchen table.

“What’s that?” Annie asked.

“Brain stimulation! There are lots of things to do out there! New careers are being created every day and we don’t know half of them. How’s David?” Elizabeth sloughed off her light jacket and sat down.

“He’s on the road to recovery — should be able to go to school tomorrow. He also seems to be on the phone with Kerry all the time. It can’t take that long to get schoolwork.”

“Told you he’d be dating soon.”

“Oh stop … I’m not ready for this.”

“Ready or not, here it comes.”

Annie smiled. “I guess so.” She looked at the pile of magazines in front of her as she dried her hands. “Now what?”

“Do you have paper?”

“Right here.” Annie grabbed a dingy gray notebook from the counter.

“That’s not very inspiring. I knew you’d pick something like that to plan your future. So I brought you something.” Elizabeth pulled out a bright pink notebook with writing across the front from her voluminous purse.

Annie scanned the front. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life,” it announced. “Count on you to find something like that. But remember, all we’re doing is writing a list. I’m not committing to anything.”

“You will.”

For the next hour the women pored through magazines and wrote down every occupation they could find. When Annie wanted to eliminate something as being too outrageous, Elizabeth forced her to write it down. “We’re brainstorming,” she explained. “There’s no vetoing in brainstorming.”

“But I can’t be a flight attendant,” Annie protested. “I’m too old, too short, and overweight.”

“The rules changed. Didn’t you notice? Now you need to be able to strong-arm passengers who don’t want to obey the rules. It’s not fun anymore. That’s why they let anyone do it. Write it down.”

By the time they wound down, Annie had a list that covered three pages. While many were clearly ridiculous — she suspected becoming a stunt person was a little far-fetched — some had possibilities.

“Thanks,” she told her friend.

Elizabeth straightened out the magazines and scraps to be recycled. “What’s this?” she asked as she picked up a flyer from the counter.

Annie glanced over. “Shakespeare Santa Cruz. I try to take David to at least one performance in the glen every year, remember?”

“Got to give the kids culture. Didn’t you work there one summer?”

“It was my second year at Santa Cruz. I worked in the recording studio for the festival creating the music for the scenes and dances. They did
Midsummer
that year. Music is so important for that play. I loved to sit up in the back, especially for the night performances. Sometimes the fog would drift into the upper branches of those old redwoods. You could almost see the ghosts of old actors darting through the trees.”

“Sounds creepy.”

“No, it was marvelous.” Annie hugged herself in memory. “It was a magical time, a time when anything was possible. I could even see myself doing some song writing for the festival in the future.” Her arms dropped. “But then I got pregnant and everything changed. Don’t get me wrong. I love David. But it closed some roads for me professionally.”

“Until now,” Elizabeth said.

Annie grabbed the list and added,
Theater music composer
. “There,” she said.

“Good, I’m off, then.” Elizabeth hugged Annie. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her jacket pocket. “The body worker.”

Annie took the paper. She wasn’t sure it would do any good, but at least she’d feel better after a massage.

She went to the office the next day, although she wasn’t sure why. She spent most of the day staring at her empty e-mail inbox and wondering if she’d ever hear from John again. Maybe he finally believed her and would stay away. Her mouth drooped at the thought.

There she was being contradictory again. She wanted him to call, but when he showed up, she sent him away.

Still no message from Jim in New Jersey. What was it with people these days? Didn’t they know how to communicate? She sighed. She was running out of things to do at the office and no one stopped by to talk with her. It was as if she had layoff leprosy. By Thursday, she called the body worker and made an appointment. It was something to do.

Friday she gave up the pretense and stayed home. Maybe the job in New Jersey would never materialize. She’d better start thinking about Plan B. She took out the list that she and Elizabeth had pulled together. Not much on it looked realistic.

She checked Facebook to see if she’d heard from Beverly. She had one unread message.

“Thank you for being open enough to connect with me,” the note began. “I doubt your parents ever talked about me. I’m your father’s sister, your aunt. Your family wouldn’t let me see you … I’ll tell you why when we meet. If I came to California, would you be willing to see me?”

Annie stared at the screen. The woman would drop everything and come to California? Wasn’t that a little sudden? What was she really like? She could be like her father, mean and belittling. Or was she the callous person her mother seemed to think she was? Truth and her mother weren’t the closest of companions. Still, was she ready to meet this stranger? Annie closed out Facebook without answering the message and left for her appointment with the body worker.

The body worker’s office was carved out of one of the old Victorians on the hill near the university. Yellow walls with sunny prints surrounded a variety of plants. New age music wafted from discretely placed speakers.

Annie quickly filled out the paperwork that Sukesha, the practitioner, gave her. When she was finished, Sukesha sat down next to her and read it over.

“Do you have any places that are sore now?” she asked.

Annie pointed to her upper back. “I do a lot of computer work. I’m always tense there.”

“Ah, yes. Anywhere else?”

Annie shook her head.

“As we work together,” Sukesha continued, “we’ll discover other areas that are holding old hurts for you. My sense is that you’re very disconnected from your body. My aim is to reconnect you, allow you to experience the pain in a safe place and help you let it go. You may find that you cry. That’s okay.”

What had she gotten herself into? Body work sounded like a lot of mumbo jumbo. But, she was here and she may as well have the first treatment. She could decide later whether she wanted to come back or not.

Annie disrobed in the adjacent massage room and lay down in clean white sheets that smelled of lemon. Sukesha draped a downy comforter over her. “Warm enough?”

Annie nodded. At first, nothing that Sukesha did seemed different from the other massages that Annie had received. As the masseuse worked on her upper shoulders, though, Annie felt uncomfortable. It was a restless feeling, a need to get away from the probing fingers. Sukesha was seeing too much with her hands. Annie’s breath caught.