Merrow packed her overnight bag thoughtfully. This getaway coincided with the Lover’s Moon. She would welcome a masculine presence, real or mystical, yet she wasn’t expecting any revelations as her morning tarot reading was unclear. The Star card served as a reminder to keep the faith and the Moon card predicted the existence of illusion. The Lover’s card showed up in reverse, which could be interpreted as conflict and the need to make a decision. She pondered the complicated meanings of the cards as she prepared for her journey.
“Got the survival kit packed: wand, broom, cauldron, chalice, crystals. Need to pick and bind new sage. Candles? Damn. Have to stop for a fresh pack.”
Merrow’s organizational voice carried on a conversation with itself as she placed clothing and toiletries alongside her spellcasting tools. She was an old soul and many ancestral spirits coexisted within her, each rising to the occasion when summoned and more often of their own accord. They had started as whispers and as she learned to listen and heed their advice, they had revealed themselves in signs and thoughts. Great Aunt Zelda, always the romantic, encouraged her to pack a pretty nightdress so she tucked a seafoam green silk chemise next to the altar cloth.
It had been a long night filled with people crowding our house and talking all at once. My mother alternated between crying and wailing, giving me a headache. The television blared the local station, flashing scenes from the Rockford Files with the occasional news update interrupting the program. Everyone jumped when the kitchen phone rang and hushed to hear who was calling. The cacophony returned when it was determined to be someone wanting to know if there was any new information. There wasn’t.
It was New Year’s Eve and I was cruising up the Pacific Coast Highway in my Dodge Colt. On a whim, I’d decided that morning to ring in 1987 back home in the Bay Area instead of San Diego, where I had been stationed in the Coast Guard and still lived. My SoCal girlfriends would be whooping it up at the Country Bumpkin, our dive bar of choice, two-stepping and shooting tequila and kissing every cowboy within reach at midnight. A year ago I was matching them shot for shot and kiss for kiss, but not this year.
Mariah set the radar alarm for a 20 mile radius, stretched out in the cockpit and closed her eyes. She had trained herself to take cat naps instead of sleeping multiple hours at a stretch. Solo-sailing required a skipper to be on constant alert.
He was never physically abusive. But he was mean on a regular basis. Over the course of their 10-year marriage it eventually drove Felicia to therapy. It wasn’t couples counseling, of course. Joe didn’t think there was anything wrong with their relationship.
Dr. Zelinsky didn’t just offer good advice to her therapy clients, she walked the walk. When she felt her patience level and usually upbeat attitude dipping she booked a weekend at her favorite spa.
Today is a significant date. First and foremost, it is my husband’s birthday. Aaron, the Captain of our boat and my heart, was born in 1964 and is 56 today. He unselfishly gives of his time and talent, and most of all, Love, to his friends and family. He is completely devoted to our three Grands and drops everything to care for them. He coaches Little League, builds props for my daughter’s photography business, mans the barbecue and is known as the “Tickle Monster” by the GrandBoys. He’s a great role model for Cody and Matthew, and Ellie is definitely a “Papy’s Girl.” This from a guy who never had children of his own and became a step-father when my kids were teens! We are blessed to have him in our lives.
It was hard to ignore the heart-shaped decor in the hotel lobby. When asked if she wanted two keys, Delilah snapped at the receptionist.
“This was a terrible idea,” thought Charlotte. But out loud she sweetly said to her husband, “How quaint!”
