May 18th
Sarah ran the spellcheck again just to make sure she'd caught all the typos. Nothing turned up; satisfied, she saved the essay and sat back in her chair, tired but pleased. After a moment she reached for her mandolin and settled it in place, checked the tuning, and began to play softly, mindful that her husband was upstairs asleep after arrival in the small hours, and Jason was undoubtedly still buried in his nest of bedclothes. She smiled a little at the tune, one of her grandmother's favorites, and picked a few harmonics, tapped to make them ring just a little. The familiar melody unreeled in her mind's ear and she followed it, enjoyed the way her fingers found the notes without conscious effort on her part. Another couple of weeks, and her class would be done. Once her grade was sent to the board, she'd be okayed to hang out her shingle.
She tipped her head back a bit and closed her eyes, to picture the small room at the church with her in residence, and a patient on the other side of the desk. Much to her surprise, her mother appeared in the chair. Sarah stopped playing and frowned. "What the hell," she said, her pleasure in the music derailed. The image vanished, but the feeling it brought to mind stayed. Sarah set the instrument aside and sat up slowly. After a moment she opened the top side drawer and drew out a bundle of cloth. With care she moved the keyboard aside, then opened the cloth to reveal a deck of tarot cards. She shuffled the deck, cut twice, then dealt out three cards face down. She reached out, turned over the first card.
"What are you doing?" Jason stood in the doorway, all tousled hair and rumpled sleep clothes, watching her. The wary look on his face spoke volumes.
"A little consulting." She smiled at him. "Come on in." He edged into the office but didn't move any closer. "It's all right, they're just cards."
Jason looked at the card she'd turned right side up. "Why do you use those things?" He sounded both confused and a bit disgusted. "They're . . . superstitious."
"You've been listening to Doctor House," Sarah said, amused. "That's his opinion. I don't agree." She tilted her head a bit. "Have you had breakfast yet?" Jason shook his head. "Me either. Let's eat and then we'll talk about tarot, if you like."
"What about your—your whatever that is?" Jason said.
"It's called a reading, and it'll keep till after breakfast. Come on, let's see what we can find."
She made cheesy eggs, along with home fries from last night's leftover baked potatoes, and some hot cocoa because it was a chilly morning despite the sunshine outside. Jason devoured two platefuls and took a large mug of cocoa, but not before he added a shot of coffee. Sarah watched him, brows raised. He glanced her way, gave her a defensive look. "It just tastes good," he said. In reply she did the same thing.
"I like mocha too," she said with a slight smile. "Just don't put in too much, okay? When you're sixteen you can switch over to coffee if you want to. God knows you'll drink enough of the stuff when you're in college."
"I tried coffee once," Jason said. "It's too bitter." He sipped his cocoa. "Can we go look at the cards now?"
"All right," Sarah said mildly. Dishes could wait till later; this was far more important. She led the way to the office. They sat down together at her desk.
"So what does this card mean?" Jason pointed at the one she'd turned over.
"The Daughter of Pentacles," Sarah said. "In more traditional decks this would be called the Page." She touched the card with a gentle finger. "Before you consider the meaning, you have to know the type of spread used to ask the question. But what's most important is why the question was asked in the first place. When people want a reading they're usually at a crossroads of some kind, or they need clarification on an issue or problem."
"So what is it?" Jason wanted to know. "The question, I mean."
Sarah didn't answer him right away. "I . . . had an insight," she said slowly, "but I'm not sure of the meaning. So I'm using the cards to help me understand what I saw."
Jason took Gene's chair and brought it over to sit next to her—a gesture so reminiscent of Greg she had to hide a smile. "What did you see?" he asked quietly. "I won't talk about it to anyone else."
"I know you won't," she said, and reached out to tuck an unruly wave of dark hair behind his ear. "I was thinking of my office and starting my practice, and I saw . . . I saw my mother on the patient's side of the desk."
"Okay." Jason moved his chair a little closer to hers. "What does the first card have to do with what you saw?"
"Well . . . I asked a question with three parts to it. Why did that image show up in my imagination? What does it mean for my work? And what does it mean for me?" Sarah sighed softly. "The Daughter of Pentacles is about dreams, and how to manifest them in the physical world. It's about planning to bring your dreams into reality, being enthusiastic and open to learning and growth. I think . . . for my mother to show up in the middle of that means some part of me is worried that my dreams will turn into a nightmare."
Jason didn't say anything, but after a moment he took Sarah's hand in his. His clasp was firm but not too tight.
"You haven't turned the other cards over yet," he said after a few moments.
"Why don't you do the next one?" she said. He hesitated, but reached out with his free hand and flipped over the card. Sarah looked at it.
"Hmm . . . The second question was, what does the image of my mother in the patient's chair mean for my work? And this card is the Shaman of Wands—a King, in a traditional deck." She thought about it. "There's reassurance and caution here. It's a reminder to follow my vision, to keep my intent clear and stay focused on long-term goals despite possible difficulties and obstructions. It's also about taking on opportunities and challenges, but to watch out for arrogance and over-confidence. And to ask for help when help is needed." She squeezed Jason's hand gently.
"What about the last one?" he said finally.
"Go ahead and turn it over."
It proved to be the Five of Wands. Sarah winced.
"What is it?" Jason sounded worried.
"Damn fives," she said under her breath.
"Mom—"
"It's okay," she said. "A five card means you've got some kind of conflict and change ahead. But if you think about it, that's how life is, isn't it? Sometimes you go through rough patches where it seems like everyone's givin' you a hard time and you just can't seem to settle in." She felt Jason relax a little and went on. "I think . . . this is a warning about letting my worries get the better of me. Nothing productive comes out of obsessing over things and constant internal battles. All that does is wear you down and make you cranky."
Jason nodded. "Okay, that answers the last question. But I don't see how you couldn't have figured this out by yourself."
"Well of course I could have," Sarah said reasonably, "but it would have taken me a lot longer to come to those conclusions. For me, this is a more direct way. It doesn't work for everyone, but it does in my case."
He thought about it for a while. "They're just pictures," he said. "I don't understand how they work."
"Well, one of the great teachers of psychology thought that all the humans on the planet have a sort of connection to each other. He called it 'the collective unconscious'. And in that connection, we share certain images in common. He called those 'archetypes'. Mother, father, daughter, son, water, fire, air, earth . . . and more." She looked over at Jason. "Does that make sense?"
"You're saying the connection is because we're all humans and we have some of the same experiences," he said slowly.
"Yes, and those same experiences have been going on for many generations, most likely from the very beginning of our species. That creates images or symbols we view as immortal, unending." She touched the first card with her finger. "This is one of many ways of accessing those ancient symbols we all have inside us."
"You can't prove any of that," Jason said. "None of what you just told me is verifiable." He said the word with pride. Sarah didn't speak for a few moments.
"I know that your teachers and Doctor House have taught you about the empirical method," she said at last. "That's good. It's an excellent way to explore the world around you. But it isn't the only way." She chose her words carefully. "We are more than just our five senses, Jay. I believe everything around us has a spiritual component as well as a physical one, and we as humans do too. Because of that spiritual side, things happen that we can't explain with science—not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever, I don't know. Anyway, I think you'll find during your studies that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophies."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that while you may know some things, there's a whole lot more you don't know, and it's a good idea not to forget it." Sarah softened her words as she brought his hand to her lips for a quick kiss. "Just remember that. You're going to meet people who believe all kinds of stuff you find ludicrous or weird or just plain wrong. Keep your mind open, okay? You don't have to believe. You just need to listen."
Jason gave her a look, his dark eyes skeptical. Sarah smiled a little. "Ask Doctor House about it," she said, and gathered up the cards to put back into the deck.
"He doesn't believe in any of what you just told me," Jason said.
"For the most part you're right, he doesn't. But he still listens to his patients when they tell him they do, because it's important to know about a person's belief systems, what they consider important, what's right or wrong to them. What a person believes influences their actions, Jay. If you want to be a diagnostician like Doctor House, you need to understand that and accept it."
"So . . . I should study belief systems," Jason said slowly. "All of them."
"You can take them one at a time," Sarah said. "Start with the major ones and work your way through. They'll lead you to others. It's fascinating." She got up and went to the bookshelf, came back with her battered copy of Major Religions of the World, which she offered to Jason. "This is a good place to begin."
"You've read this." It wasn't quite an accusation. Sarah chuckled.
"Many times. I like reading about the kinds of beliefs humans have created over the centuries."
Jason looked at the book. He opened the cover, moved past the opening pages to the introduction. After a few moments he got to his feet. "Thanks," he said. Then he went out to the living room to stir up the fire and claim the couch before he settled in to read. Sarah watched him from the office doorway. He's growing up so fast, she thought, and drew her breath at the joy and sadness that knowledge brought her. Quietly she slipped away to the kitchen, to wash up the dishes. If she wiped away a few tears in the process, it was no one's business but hers.
She'd just sorted through the previous day's mail when Gene came in. He looked tired and he moved as if his lean frame ached, but he got himself a cup of coffee and added copious amounts of sugar and milk to it before he sat down next to her.
"How's your week gone?" he asked, as if he hadn't talked to her every day while he was away.
"Uneventful. Finished the final essay for my class," she said, and worked hard to keep her voice even. Gene sat up a little.
"That's not 'uneventful'. You're about to get the okay to start your practice." He set his coffee aside and took her hand in his, then tugged gently. "C'mere."
She got up and settled on his lap, felt his arms go around her and lay her head on his shoulder. "You should be in bed," she said softly.
"I'll go back in a bit. Right now I want some time with you." He kissed the top of her head. "You're stewin' about opening your office."
How well he knew her. "Sort of," she said.
"Has our oldest boy been over yet to give you a hard time?" The smile in his voice made her smile too.
"Not yet, but I'm sure he'll show up eventually."
"I see you have the youngest one occupied. He was so deep in that book he didn't even hear me come down." Gene rubbed her hip gently. "Whatcha got him readin'?"
"Major Religions," Sarah said. Gene blew a breath.
"More like Major Propaganda," he said, his tone derisive. "What are you gonna do if he decides to go to church?"
"Make sure he's wearing clean clothes before he leaves the house on Sunday," Sarah said, and chuckled when Gene groaned. "Michael Eugene, it's his choice, just like it was for us." She put a hand on his chest. "I don't see him doing that anyway. He's a natural skeptic."
They sat in silence for a while, content to be close. "Come upstairs," Gene said at last.
"But I've got all this mail to go through," Sarah said.
"The damn mail can wait." He picked up the stack and set it aside, more for show than anything else, she suspected.
"Well, I don't know," she said, prim as a maiden school teacher. "Bills come first—"
"Not if I do," he said, and slipped his hand under the waistband of her jeans to cop a feel so hot she gasped.
They snuck upstairs past a rapt Jason, closed the door and enjoyed a lengthy session of slap and tickle before sleep claimed them both.
It was past noon when Sarah left Gene and went back downstairs, to find Greg in the dining room. He played her mandolin, his feet propped on the table. She lifted them off and went by him, and hummed to herself as she put the kettle on for tea.
"Hope you and Gunney had fun getting re-acquainted," Greg said, and strummed a chord.
"Where's your wife?" Sarah took a teabag from the canister.
"Off working a side job. Some farmer wants his barn grounded or something to that effect." He played another chord. "You're propagandizing the kid."
"You want him to know basics, don't you?" She got a spoon from the drawer.
"I want his mind free of garbage."
"He has to learn about religion and philosophical tenets sometime. Better for him to do it now, while he's got the time to think about what works for him and what doesn't. He'll be too busy later to give this the attention it deserves."
Greg said nothing for a while, his lean fingers busy with the music. When Sarah sat at the table next to him he said "It's one thing to know about human imagination. It's another to believe in the nonsense it creates."
"Have a little faith," Sarah said, and laughed when Greg rolled his eyes. "Sorry, couldn't resist."
Greg picked out the melody for 'What A Friend We Have In Jesus'. "You think he's gonna buy into anything in particular?"
"You've already got him invested in empirical method," Sarah said dryly. Greg stopped.
"And you disapprove."
"No," Sarah said in mild exasperation. "But you're doing him a disservice if you tell him that's all there is."
"That is all there is."
"Oh, baloney," Sarah said. "Here, give me that." She took the mandolin from him and began to pick the chords for 'Whiskey Before Breakfast', the song she'd worked on while she finished off her essay. Greg raised a brow.
"Wishful thinking," he said.
"Some mornings. I just keep it to a cup of tea, though." She glanced at him. "I'm not sayin' you have to tell him there's a Santa Claus, but it does help to keep an open mind about why other people think he exists."
"People are morons." Greg watched her for a moment, then stood and left the table, to return with the Martin six-string. He gave it a quick tune, then joined her in the melody. They played together for a couple of verses before Jason appeared in the doorway, book in hand.
"I have some questions," he said. Sarah gave Greg a look and picked a final chord, then gestured at a spot across from them.
"Sit. Ask," she said. Jason obeyed and opened the book.
"Okay, I don't understand what this means . . ."
After about ten minutes Sarah eased out of her chair and took herself and the mandolin to the office, where she opened the computer screen, read over her essay one last time, then sent it off. To celebrate she pulled up her favorite rendition of 'Freeborn Man' with Tony Rice's high lonesome voice offering up the lyrics and played along, to enjoy the feel of the chords as they flew effortlessly down the length of the melody. She'd left her boys deep in discussion, two intense natures pitted against each other, but less in competition than in an attempt at mutual understanding. That this was an enormous concession from Greg she understood, even if Jason was unaware of it right now; it was a gift beyond price, and his alone to give.
It was some time later when Greg showed up in the office doorway. He glowered at her. "You're gonna pay for that," he said. Sarah laughed and set her mandolin aside.
"Go get the guitar," she said. "We can play until he comes up with the next set of questions," and laughed at Greg's groan.
They played through the afternoon, interrupted twice more by Jason, until Gene came downstairs and called a halt with a suggestion they go to Lou's for dinner, readily agreed to by all parties. Greg went home to get Roz, while Sarah put on a clean shirt and jeans. She was in the middle of brushing her hair when the resolution of her insight opened in her mind, so simple she sat there in astonishment.
She saw her office once more, bright in the morning sunshine, and once more her mother sat on the patient side of the desk—but it was her mother as a young woman, beaten and ragged with the blows life had dealt her, but still unbroken; then her father as a youth, a battered sketchbook clutched in his hands; Greg as the child she'd seen in her dreams, sunburnt, his chestnut hair buzz-cut by a ruthless hand; and at last herself, all sharp elbows and skinned knees in torn clothes.
Examine your own beliefs, that little voice whispered deep inside. Your understanding of others is like a drop of water in an endless ocean.
"I get it," she whispered, shamed and lifted up at the same time.
"Hey Goldman! You coming with?" Greg bellowed downstairs. Sarah put down her brush.
"I'm coming!" she called, and glanced at her reflection in the mirror before she hurried to join her family.
'Whiskey Before Breakfast', traditional arrangement
'Freeborn Man', Tony Rice, Mark O'Connor, Bela Fleck (Merlefest early 90s, vid at YouTube)