name?” he asked her.
“Lisbeth.”
“Oh, right. Alan Shire and Lisbeth, the sister, got a cabin over near Deetjen’s Inn—remember Deetjen’s?”
Joelle nodded quickly, wanting him to get on with the story.
“They checked into the cabin,” he said, “then started looking for the commune. We weren’t the only commune in Big Sur, as I’m sure you remember, and they probably didn’t know where to start looking. It was dark, I guess, by the time they got to the right one.”
“Actually, it was only Alan who got there,” her mother said. “The sister had stayed behind in the cabin.”
“That’s true. And Carlynn was in Penny’s cabin then, but she’d been in our cabin just an hour or so earlier. Rainbow.” He grinned. “Remember it?”
“Sure.” She smiled at the memory of the small, dark cabin. She could smell it right at that moment—the scent of ashes mingled with the earthy, musky odor inevitably present in a wooden cabin surrounded by trees and fog. What a strange existence she’d had for the first ten years of her life!
“We’d had her come over to Rainbow a couple of days after you were born because we thought you were running a fever,” her father continued.
“You thought she had a fever,” her mother corrected him. “I still think she did,” her father said. “I think it disappeared as soon as Carlynn touched her.”
Even Joelle’s mother shook her head at that, but Joelle felt moved. Her father had always been a nurturer, and she liked to picture him, a kid of nineteen, skinny little Johnny Angel, aching with worry over his baby girl.
“Well, anyhow,” her father said, “she went back to Penny’s cabin after curing you—” he winked at her “—and Alan Shire showed up and spirited her away without letting her even say goodbye.”
“And the next day, Carlynn and her sister were driving on Highway One, looking for a phone or a market or something, and they didn’t know the roads, and they flew off the side of the cliff in the fog. The sister, Lisbeth, was killed, and Carlynn nearly died herself.”
“Scared the shit out of us because we knew that could happen to any one of us on those roads,” her father said. “Those of us with vehicles, anyhow. We all felt terrible. Carlynn had helped Penny and had saved your life, and yet her own sister died without her being able to do a thing about it.”
“I know Penny felt terrible,” her mother said. “If Carlynn hadn’t stayed with her so long at the commune, her sister would never have had to come to Big Sur to find her.”
“It was so long ago, though,” her father said. “I doubt someone of Carlynn’s … you know, internal resources, would still be grieving over something that happened that long ago.”
“How old is she now?” Joelle asked.
“Well, she must have been in her mid-thirties then,” her mother said, “so that would put her at about seventy by now.”
“You know, I really wish you could go see her.” Her father dabbed his lips with a cloth napkin before resting it on the table. “Whether you ask her for help with Mara or not, she’d probably feel great seeing you. Knowing that you’re alive, that something good came out of that time at the commune, even though it meant the loss of her sister. That you’re the wonderful person you are because of her.”
Her eyes burned again. What was wrong with her? Was this part of being pregnant, growing weepy over every little thing?
She set her own napkin on the table. “I’ll think about it, Dad,” she said, and to her surprise, she knew she meant it.
4
THE SOCIAL WORK DEPARTMENT HAD NOT BEEN GIVEN MUCH space in the hospital. Located on the second floor, it consisted of one large room divided into four small offices, or “cubbyholes,” as the staff referred to them. The largest of the cubbies was the central office, where the coffeepot, mini-refrigerator, watercooler, mailboxes and reception desk were located. The three other offices were aligned in a row, separated only by paper-thin walls, through which a whisper could be heard if someone was really trying to listen.
For that reason, Joelle waited until she had the social work offices to herself before making the call to Carlynn Shire. She could hear Maggie, the department’s receptionist/secretary/office manager, talking to her boyfriend on the phone in the central office, but both Paul and Liam were in other parts of the hospital, and she wanted to take advantage of the quiet. Dialing the number for the Mind and Body Center, she wondered if Carlynn Shire would really remember an infant she had “saved” more than thirty-four years before.
“Shire Mind and Body Center.” The voice that answered the phone was that of a very young woman.
“Hello, my name is Joelle D’Angelo.” Joelle heard Liam step into his office next to hers as she was finishing the sentence. Drat. Swiveling her chair to face the far wall, she lowered her voice. “I was wondering if I could speak with Carlynn Shire,” she said.
There was a moment’s hesitation on the other end of the phone.
“Carlynn Shire doesn’t actually work here,” the young woman said.
“Oh,” Joelle said. “I thought …”
“She’s retired. You might catch her at some kind of function or whatever, but she’s almost never actually here.”
“I see.” Joelle wondered whether to dig further. She needed to use the bathroom very soon. In just this past week, she’d learned the location of every public and staff restroom in the hospital. She’d had some teasing of nausea, as well, and couldn’t even think about the liver she’d eaten the week before without gagging. It had been only a little over a week since she’d learned she was pregnant, before which she’d felt completely well, which made her wonder how many of her symptoms were psychological.
“Well, I’d still like to talk with her,” she said. “Could you tell me how to reach her?”
“I can’t give out that information.”
“How can I get a message to her?”
That hesitation again. “Hold on a sec,” the young woman said.
Not too long, please, Joelle thought, squeezing her legs together. She could hear Liam on the phone in his office, and the sound of his voice made her want to weep. Everything made her want to weep these days. Liam hung up his phone and left his office, much to her relief, and she heard his footsteps travel down the hall.
In the old days, before the night that had ruined their friendship, he never would have come and gone from his office without ducking into hers for a quick hello. Often, he’d ask if she wanted to go for a hike the following weekend, sometimes with Sam in a carrier on Liam’s back, sometimes without.
The last hike they’d been on, shortly before Sam’s birthday, had been at Point Lobos. The hike had been, she’d thought later, a turning point for both of them, a warning they’d chosen to ignore. They’d hiked together many times, both of them finding the exercise a great outlet for the
