Chapter 4
FOUR
KAYA
From an early age, the desire to help others lived in my bones. It was different from that of my parents. My path was more abstract, profound, visceral. Scalpels, sutures, bandages, and medications will never be in my healing arsenal.
I mend the spirit. Restore the soul. Alleviate a different type of pain.
Sadness and heartache, hurt and frustration, anger and anxiety—my spirit cries out to heal the darkness in others. Show them ways to move past life’s hiccups and hurdles. Point out the good when they can’t see beyond the devastation. Guide them back toward the light and be a pillar when they need it most.
When I was a small girl, my anaanatsialirqiuti —great-grandmother—told me she saw a great energy around my spirit. Great-grandmother said it had been many years since she encountered such a powerful spirit in a person. Both my anaanatsiaq and anaana —grandmother and mother—had gifts too, but theirs was different. As unique as we were. She said this gift I had been given was my calling. That I am angakkuq —a shaman.
I remember asking her if that meant I would work with my mother or father at a doctor’s office or the hospital. She told me no. That my gift was distinct from theirs. I would heal people in a greater way, not with pills or thread, but with my heart and words.
It wasn’t until years later that I truly understood what it meant to heal someone’s spirit. When I neared the end of high school and started looking at college courses, it hadn’t been difficult to narrow down my major. Finding a way to blend my culture with modern healing and the need to relieve others’ anguish, I elected to study psychology. A year into my studies, after several conversations, a professor took me aside and said I’d be a phenomenal behavioral specialist. That I had a rare gift and saw more than a person’s superficial layer.
Working with children in Stone Bay has been… interesting, but I wouldn’t change a single moment. Once we overcome the hurdles and struggles and get to the root cause of their hurt, it opens a door for joy and gratitude. Nothing is more rewarding than seeing someone find their peace again. Gaining priceless connections with the town’s youth is an additional perk.
When the final bell rings this school year, many will silently rejoice. Naturally, I’m the oddball. The one who wilts in their absence. The one who wants to check in with her students over summer break.
And as I pack up office number two, a gray cloud looms overhead and has me melancholy.
“Why are you frowning?” Clarissa asks from her spot in one of the guest chairs.
Snapping me out of my gloomy introspection, I blink a couple times and school my expression. “I’m not.”
She peers up from her phone and arches a brow. “You were.” Her gaze drops back to the screen as she chuckles.
“What’s funny?”
“You’re the only person at school sad about not seeing students for three months.”
My eyes lose focus as I recall recent conversations with other school staff. Teachers, administrators, janitors. Several expressed their excitement for vacation and rest, but no one explicitly said they were thrilled to have student-free days.
I mentally wave off Clarissa’s comment and return to packing. “I’ll see some of them at the rec center throughout the summer.” Fetching an empty manilla folder from the filing cabinet, I fill it with drawings and paintings middle and high school students gifted me this year. “Though it’ll mostly be the elementary students.”
“What else are you up to this summer?”
Unless my answer includes the word vacation or relaxation or some other variation of I’m not working , she won’t like my response. Focusing on my task, I mentally prepare to be read the riot act. It’s inevitable. A huge advocate of self-care, Clarissa is always on me about taking time to rest and restore.
Unfortunately, she’s unable to grasp how spending time with and helping kids is one of my forms of self-care. Seeing their smiles, hearing their laughter, knowing I’ve made their day better… it’s a balm for my soul.
“Not sure yet. Maybe some gardening. My grandfather has been begging me to go fishing with him again. It’s been a while.”
Clarissa lifts her gaze from her phone and pins me with an inquisitive stare. “Don’t you garden all the time?”
I keep my expression light, neutral. “Yes, but gardening is different from one season to the next.”
She stays quiet for a beat. The only sound in the room is of me boxing up memorabilia. As I put the lid on one box, she breaks the silence. “You should come to the beach with me next month.”
My stomach pitches then plummets. “As fun as that sounds, you know I already promised to help out at the rec center.”
A subtle shake of her head, she shrugs. “Give them plenty of notice and take a long weekend. I’m sure they won’t mind.”
“Rissa…”
“Picture it, Kaya. Endless sunshine, golden sand, hot guys everywhere you look.” A devilish smile curves the corners of her mouth. “Maybe you’ll find someone to help relieve your stress.” She waggles her brows.
With a roll of my eyes, I laugh under my breath. “I’m not spending a long weekend in Southern California to”—I peer at the office door to make sure we’re alone, then drop my voice—“have sex with random strangers.”
“Boo.” She pushes out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “You’re no fun.”
“Yet you still love me,” I tease.
She lifts a hand and rests it against her chin as a huge smile brightens her expression. “I do. Not sure what I’d do without you.”
“Going soft on me, Rissa?”
Dropping her gaze back to her phone, she taps the screen. Music floats through the room as her smile turns devious. “Only for a sec.” She laughs. “Maybe you don’t need to go out of town for hot guys.”
My brows furrow. “Do I want to know what that means?”
Clarissa rises from her seat and sidles up to me at the desk. Turning her phone so I can see the screen, she taps it and a video plays. “Stone Bay’s very own celebrity.”
On the screen, a man in a shirt tight enough to be a second skin makes a crust out of crushed cookies. Seconds later, there’s whipped cream or frosting in a bowl. And then…
I gasp as my skin heats everywhere.
“Mm-hmm,” Clarissa acknowledges.
His fingers are in a bowl filled with batter, flicking back and forth in a quick, suggestive way. Then his fingers are in a piece of fruit, juice squirting out.
I swallow, inhale a ragged breath, and hold it. The good girl in me says I should look away. Go back to what I was doing. But my racing heart, searing skin, and the subtle ache between my thighs keep my eyes glued to the screen.
The video turns tame for a few seconds as the dessert gets plated. In the next shot, all I see are abs. Tan rippled panty-soaking abs. He drags his tongue up a slice of cake before his eyes meet the camera and he blows a kiss at the audience. Then, it starts over.
For the first time in years, I’m speechless, at a true loss for words.
Clarissa, on the other hand, has plenty to say. She fans her face. “Mm-mm-mmm. That man can cook for me any day of the damn week.” She stares at the screen as the video loops back to the beginning again. “Preferably naked.”
“Rissa,” I admonish.
“What?” She swipes the screen and different music echoes around us. “If he fucks as good as he cooks?—”
“Rissa!” I whisper-shout and hook a thumb toward the open door when she looks up.
She rolls her eyes. “The office assistants are probably glued to their phones. None of them are listening to us.”
“Either way…”
“Kaya, you cannot tell me this man doesn’t do something to your… nether region.”
A flush of heat crawls up my neck and spreads across my cheeks as I widen my eyes and mouth, “Really?”
“Could’ve said worse,” she mutters and shrugs.
If we weren’t at work, I would’ve let the comments go without a word. Still would’ve gotten hot watching the video. Still would’ve been self-conscious over the… sensations it elicited. But I would have otherwise left it alone.
I am far from a prude. Just prefer to keep certain thoughts to myself. Like the countless obscene thoughts that surfaced as the man-made dessert magic. The way my mouth watered… and not just for the food.
Am I ashamed? No, just private when it comes to partners, love, sex, and the emotions they come with.
Needing a subject change, I search for a safe topic. Her California trip comes to mind, but I quickly shut it down. It’d steer us back into Kaya-needs-a-man territory. Hmm.
“I mean, how can you look away?” Clarissa shoves her phone closer to my face as the guy practically molests a chicken with oil and herbs.
“Have you gone swimsuit shopping for your trip?” I blurt out, hoping the conversation will shift.
She bites her lower lip. “He can slather me in oil and herbs then lick me clean.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Rissa…” I drag her name out like a pouty child.
She lifts her gaze and pins me with mischievous, sparkling eyes.
Oh, no.
“I know the perfect way to celebrate the end of the school year,” she declares, voice a little too chipper.
I swallow past the unfettered energy climbing up in my throat. “Oh yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.” Her devilish smile from earlier makes a reappearance. “Dinner and drinks at Calhoun’s Bistro.”
Relief washes over me as my shoulders relax and I exhale the breath I was holding. “Nice as that sounds, they’re booked months in advance.”
Her wicked smile grows impossibly wider. “There are exceptions for some people.”
She’s talking about the fact that I’m Seven—a status I don’t care to use—and can get a table whenever I want. All I have to do is make a call and flaunt said title.
I shake my head. “Let’s go to Bay Chowder House or Gigi’s. It’ll be less crowded.”
She props a hand on her hip. “Good as those are, I can go anytime. Can’t say the same about Calhoun’s Bistro.”
No matter how much I push back, Clarissa will hold her ground. When she wants something, she is a force of nature.
I love and hate this side of her.
Minutes of silence pass before she sets her phone down, claps her hands together in prayer beneath her chin, and pushes out her bottom lip. “Please, Kaya. I’ll even make the reservations.”
I close my eyes, subtly shake my head, and take a deep breath. “Have I told you lately how pushy you are?”
“No.” Her tone is lighter, buoyant. As if she knows I’ll say yes.
Opening my eyes, I narrow my gaze on her. “Well, you are.”
“But you still love me,” she singsongs.
“Maybe,” I tease.
She hooks an arm around my shoulders. “Say yes, Kaya. What’ve you got to lose?”
A heavy sigh leaves my lips. She’s right, not that I plan on telling her. “Fine,” I huff out. “Yes.”
“Eeeee!” she squeals loudly, and I shrink away. After a quick kiss to my cheek, she picks her phone up and taps the screen several times. Lifts it to her ear and sets reservations for us.
Saturday at seven thirty.
At least I’ll have most of the day to mentally prepare for our night out. And by prepare, I mean meditate for hours.
Clarissa ends the call then dances in place. Infectious as her excitement is, it doesn’t quash the slow-building pang in my belly. Saturday feels different than our typical night out. More than a bite to eat or drinks as we celebrate another successful year. Saturday feels life altering, and I don’t know why.
Change is good. It wakes you up. Gives you fresh perspective. Makes you question life.
Were my grandmother at my side, she’d tell me to be brave and do what makes my stomach flip upside down.
So, rather than let my jitters consume me, I embrace the unknown. With a smile on my face, I knock Clarissa’s hip with mine and do a little jig. I open myself to something new.