Afterwards, as they lay together in the dark, she asked, “How’s Troy? All I know is what I read in industry publications.”
“He’s okay.” Eli wondered how many people knew about Giselle’s affair with Meditrina’s CEO. Does Coyote?
“Still married to his ice princess?”
“As far as I know.”
Giselle eased herself out of bed, switched on the lamp, and started dressing.
“Can’t you stay?” he asked.
“I have to get up early.” She shook out her shoes before putting them on. “Watch out for scorpions—don’t walk around barefoot.”
“Will I see you in the morning?”
She brushed a kiss on his forehead. “Most definitely.”
As she closed the cabin door behind her, Eli noticed the sprig of lavender lying on the pillow.
Card 9: The Hermit
Centuries before whites settled in Arkansas, the native people considered the Ouachita Mountains sacred. Many different tribes came to the natural mineral springs in the “Valley of the Mists” to drink and bathe in the healing waters, putting aside their differences temporarily to enjoy this mystical spot in peace.
Driving through the valley, Miranda could easily understand why her father’s older brother had made his home here. His real name was Bradaigh, which meant
“spirited” in Gaelic, but she’d always called him Uncle Bright because as a young child she’d seen a halo of light glowing around his head. People described Bradaigh Malone as an old hippie, a loner, a hermit. White hair hung below his shoulders and his beard cascaded down his chest. Beneath shaggy eyebrows, piercing blue eyes shone like beacons. He walked with a limp—the legacy of an injury sustained in Vietnam—and used a tall staff he’d carved from an ash branch to support himself.
Miranda drove across a narrow bridge that arched over a stream, then climbed a dirt road up a seemingly endless hill to her uncle’s house. She hadn’t been here since before her father became ill, seven years ago; the road had deteriorated significantly since then. It must be impossible to get in or out during the winter, she thought. He probably likes it that way.
Uncle Bright was weeding his vegetable garden when she pulled up in front of the house. He waved and stood up slowly. Omar, his mixed lab-golden retriever, raced to greet her by sticking his nose in her crotch.
“How was your trip, Sunshine?” her uncle asked. He’d nicknamed her Sunshine because he said she lit up his life.
“Long,” Miranda answered, hugging him with one arm while she tried unsuccessfully to fend off the friendly dog. “It’s still hard for this New England girl to get used to such big states.”
“It still seems strange to me sometimes, too. But then, I hardly ever go anyplace.”
He reached for his staff, which he’d propped against the garden fence. “Are you hungry?”
“Very.”
“C’mon in, then. I’ll get dinner together.”
Miranda fetched her suitcase from the car and followed her uncle into the house.
While he busied himself in the kitchen, she climbed up a ladder to a loft guestroom and unpacked a few things. The room looked the same as she remembered it: a double bed with pine cone finials and a patchwork quilt, a small dresser, a nightstand holding an old oil lamp that had been converted to electricity, and about a zillion crystals.
A large chunk of smoky quartz sat on the dresser; an amethyst cluster rested on the nightstand. More crystals perched on the windowsill, twinkling in the late afternoon sun.
They reminded her of the crystals in the secret pyramid she’d visited with Lancelot Lucas. That memory triggered a pleasant tingling between her legs. I’ll think about that later, she told herself, pushing the images aside . She washed her face and brushed her hair, then went back downstairs to join her uncle.
More crystals adorned Uncle Bright’s living room and kitchen. Stones of various sizes, shapes, and colors rested on every surface. Clear quartz pillars as big as half-gallon milk cartons stood like sentries on the mantel. A bowling ball-sized sphere shone on the coffee table. The house seemed to buzz with their energy. He doesn’t think of them as pretty baubles, she reminded herself, they’re his extended family.
“We’re having roast chicken, yellow squash, green beans, and salad. Hope that’s okay,” Uncle Bright said. “You get to sample my first tomatoes of the summer.”
“Sounds great,” she answered, trying not to picture the capon they were about to eat walking around in the yard this morning. “How can I help?”
“You can set the table.”
Miranda laid out placemats, silverware, plates, and glasses. In her uncle’s sideboard she found a stash of candles. On impulse, she fitted two beeswax tapers into brass holders and placed them on the table. Then she helped carry platters and bowls brimming with food to the dining room.
Omar took up residence beside Uncle Bright’s chair, hoping for a handout. His tail beat a steady rhythm, like a metronome, on the pine floor.
“I want to hear all about your travels,” her uncle said as he spooned homegrown vegetables onto their plates.
“So far this trip has been everything and nothing that I’d expected.”
She recounted her visits to the usual tourist sites—Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon, the Painted Desert—leaving out potentially eyebrow-raising segments. As she filled Uncle Bright in on her journey and the interesting people she’d met, she considered ways to explain her relationship with Eli. I’m not even sure about it myself, she had to admit. Maybe I’ll save that discussion for another time.
When she’d finished her travelogue, he asked, “How’s everyone back home?”
Miranda took a second helping of chicken. “Okay, I guess,” feeling herself stiffen.
“Are you getting along any better with your mom and Kelly, now that Danny’s gone?”
While her father was sick, Uncle Bright came back to Salem several times to visit.
He’d been a great help to her, especially at the end. A lot more help than my mother and sister, she thought bitterly. “I really haven’t seen much of them since the funeral,” she answered.
“You know, Sunshine, people cope with grief in different ways.”
“I doubt Mom really cares he’s gone. She’s got her new husband now. And Kelly’s such a self-centered brat, she never thinks of anyone but herself.”
She knew if she looked at him, his eyes would hold nothing but understanding.
But she kept her gaze focused on her dinner. She ate some squash, then a bite of salad.
“These tomatoes are delicious,” she said, trying to change the subject.
Her uncle, however, wasn’t ready to let it go yet. “Holding a grudge dims your own radiance. Anger and resentment are like grime coating a light bulb. Forgiveness washes away that dirt so the light can shine brightly again.”
“I know, I know. A grief counselor told me holding on to grievances is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die.”
“That’s a pretty good analogy.” He smiled and patted her hand. “Never forget, Sunshine, that you are a light bearer. You have a job to do: to shine the light of love into the darkness of fear. Fear, hatred, and anger deplete our vitality. Love keeps us alive.”
“Easier said than done.”
“All you have to do is remember the good things about a person. Try to see what’s luminous in them, rather than dwelling on what you don’t like.”