Chapter 27
The renovations complete at last, Ingrid moved back home. Still, inexplicably, Miles’s glum demeanor persisted. He was much less affectionate toward her, even cool, and, instead of tidying up, started to purposefully leave messes everywhere in the newly decorated house.
He was just being childish, Ingrid thought. Making her pay for leaving him alone in the house.
She reminded him that it had been his idea for her to move into the Loefflers’ home. That everything that benefited her also benefited him, in a way. But still, he was defensive, claiming not to be mad, even though she noticed he didn’t deny the distance that had developed between them.
But what could she say? He had reason to be resentful; Ingrid no longer only belonged solely to him.
She and Sailor had formed a new and unshakable bond, and the truth was, Miles was going to have to get used to sharing her.
Ingrid did her best to be sensitive to his feelings, making him dinner and washing his clothes.
She even let the empty cans and fast-food bags lying around the newly redecorated rooms pass without comment—and, thank the Goddess, after a few weeks, he seemed mostly back to his old self.
The hot, heavy, oppressive month of July passed in a whirlwind. Ingrid’s days were filled with appointments with the Loefflers’ friends, lunches with Sailor, and the occasional Tuesday family dinner.
The dinners always left her exhausted. Under Scoot’s baleful, drunken eye, she tried to avoid Rill’s flirtatious looks and engage in a meaningful way with Cas.
Frustratingly, he resisted conversation, seeming to be content with the occasional brush of his fingers against her arm or leg.
And he always disappeared right after dessert.
Ingrid despaired of ever moving their relationship to the next step.
It appeared Scoot hadn’t warned her off Cas to be spiteful.
Cas really did like to play with people.
The sunset cruises on Jude’s boat were a welcome respite.
The Do Not Disturb was actually a yacht—a small one, Jude informed Ingrid, only seventy feet.
Ingrid was agog at the polished wood-and-brass interior, the three bedrooms, three baths, galley, and seating area complete with a wet bar.
Jude had a full-time captain and staff who ran the vessel, so that whenever they wanted to take a cruise, they could leave at a moment’s notice.
Since he and Sailor had been dating, he’d kept it docked at the Savannah Yacht Club marina on nearby Whitemarsh Island.
Initially intimidated by Jude’s age and crisp English accent, Ingrid had grown fond of the hotelier.
Especially when she saw how thoughtful he was toward Sailor.
He was always sliding a drink in her hand, always complimenting her appearance, noticing the details of what she was wearing, gently pushing back strands of hair that had fallen in her eyes and tucking them tenderly behind her ears.
He seemed to rely on Sailor’s opinion when it came to business decisions as well, asking her what she thought about a new hotel he was considering in Portugal or if he should sign a deal with a vegan, ethically sourced line of spa products even though it would double his costs.
On one particular trip, Cas joined them.
They were all stretched out on towels, catnapping in the balmy afternoon sun, when Sailor asked Ingrid all about her grandmother and how she had learned magic.
At first Ingrid felt shy, but eventually she told them Edie had grown up in a suburb of Atlanta, the daughter of a cop and a homemaker mother.
She spent summers with her maternal grandmother down in Savannah, who lived in a trailer on a dirt road on the Isle of Hope.
This woman—Edie called her Mama Strode—traced her ancestry back to Devon, England, to a people she called the Dumnonii, “the Deep Valley Dwellers.” Devon was geographically an unusual spot, with both a northern and southern coast, allowing the light to bathe the land.
Before the Romans invaded, the Dumnonii practiced a form of magic Mama Strode called “Ash and Light.”
She explained to her granddaughter that the original Celtic deities were not always anthropomorphic, but more often elemental, and therefore she called the light “Goddess.” She taught Edie the practice of following the light that had been passed down to her from her own grandmother who spoke with a strange, clipped accent.
Mama Strode told Edie she should always live by the sea, where the light was free and unfettered and where Edie could hear her messages.
When Ingrid finished the story, she had glanced shyly over at Cas, lean and languidly resting on his elbows.
His shaggy hair and skin looked like burnished gold in the sun.
He hadn’t said anything in response, but he’d just smiled with that warm, lopsided grin of his, and she felt like she’d received his approval.
That evening, Sailor tried to persuade Cas and Jude to let Ingrid do a reading for them. Cas declined but Jude agreed. They all showered and changed clothes, then, with a fresh bottle of sauvignon blanc, settled on cushioned seats around the teak dining table.
When Jude offered Ingrid his hand, she was surprised by how quickly and clearly she saw his past. The young orphan boy in the north of England, moved from foster home to foster home, overcome with loneliness and fear, but filled with a steadfast ambition.
And then she saw the woman. Beautiful, sinewy, working at a mirrored barre.
Sailor had told her about Jude’s first wife who had died young of cancer, and she instantly knew it must be her she was seeing. She hesitated, reluctant to continue, but there was no fooling Sailor.
“Ingrid, what is it? Don’t hold back. Please.”
Jude sat motionless.
“The ballet dancer,” Ingrid said timidly to him. “Ballerina, I mean. I see her.”
Jude’s eyes clouded, and he sat back in his chair. He glanced at Sailor.
“I’m fine,” Sailor assured him, then turned to Ingrid. “Tell him everything you see.”
Jude nodded once at Ingrid. “All right. You heard her. Fire away.”
Ingrid cleared her throat. “I see something of hers … here, on the boat.”
Jude looked down at the teak table.
“You’re not obligated to—” Ingrid began.
Jude interrupted her, but he was looking at Sailor. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Her eyes were full of love and understanding. “It’s okay.”
Jude looked at Ingrid. “It’s a hat …”
She knew before he said anything more. She’d known the moment she’d set foot on the Do Not Disturb and seen the hodgepodge of hats hanging on shiny brass hooks in the galley.
There had been an array of baseball caps and men’s straw fedoras, but only one woman’s hat.
A dusty blue-and-cream-colored straw hat with an old-fashioned pleated brim.
Too fussy to be Sailor’s, who rarely wore hats because she loved the feel of the sun on her face.
Jude’s eyes had gone red and watery. Ingrid held his gaze.
“She’s glad you kept the hat, and … she wants you to know she thinks you’ve chosen wisely.” Ingrid looked now at Sailor. “She’s saying maybe you’ll have a daughter who can wear it one day.”
Jude stood abruptly, disappeared into the cabin, then reappeared holding the hat.
He looked at Sailor, then reached out one hand, taking hold of the tangerine wisp of silk that held Sailor’s hair back.
He wound the scarf around the brim of the hat, tying it in a knot.
He looked for a long moment at the hat, then at Ingrid.
“Thank you.” He turned to Sailor, pressing the back of his big hand to his eye, sitting back down. “She would have loved you, baby. So much.”
Sailor came over and sat on his lap and nuzzled his face. He planted a long and lingering kiss on her lips. “My ballast,” he whispered.
Ingrid and Cas exchanged awkward glances and rose, quickly slipping out of the room. Once they were out on the deck, he stood next to her, at the starboard side railing, hands in the pockets of his linen pants. Ingrid watched the wind ruffle his hair.
Cas eyed her and inhaled deeply. “That was …” He didn’t finish the thought, just let out a long exhale.
“Yeah. Sometimes readings can be intense.”
“I was thinking …” he started, then stopped. He seemed to be having difficulty with whatever he wanted to say.
She waited.
“It’s just that I wanted to ask you something,” he finally said.
“Sure. Anything.” She held her breath.
“I just wondered … what you would say about someone who might want a reading … from a psychic, like you … but who’s religious … I mean …” He laughed nervously. “Obviously, I’m talking about myself. I don’t know why I didn’t just come right out and say it. Stupid.” His eyes shifted away from her.
She was touched. “I would do a reading for you. I don’t see it as a conflict of interest, I guess. And it’s not stupid, Cas.”
“It’s just … there are some things I need clarity on. Work. Life, I guess.” He seemed to want to say more but didn’t.
“Of course.”
Now he looked at her again, his dark eyes making her breathless.
He held out his hand, and as she took it, the heavy watch on his wrist shifted.
His hand was big, nicely shaped, and warm, and she turned it palm up.
She traced the lines, listening to the sounds of the wind and the water around them.
Opening herself. Asking the light to reveal.
But everything remained a blank …
Everything around Cas was murky. Impossible to discern between what was his life and the forces that sought to overpower him. She had nothing.
How could that be?
Was it what Scoot had said? That he was just playing with her?
“I lied to you, Ingrid,” he blurted out.
She looked up into his face, brows knit in confusion.
“I told you I went to Amherst, but I didn’t. I went to Georgia College.”
She almost laughed, she was so relieved.
“So embarrassing. I’m embarrassed I did that, I mean.”
She shook her head. “Please don’t be. It doesn’t matter to me at all. I didn’t even go to college.”
He smiled. She smiled back then looked back down at his palm. She traced his lifeline. His skin was soft. She couldn’t believe she was touching it. She wanted to bend her face to his hand and kiss it.
“What do you see?” His voice was so small, so vulnerable, like a little boy asking for help. She felt a sudden sweep of sadness.
“A lot, actually … now.”
It was true. After his admission, his hand had opened up to her like a flower, and now she saw more than she’d ever hoped.
Cas was afraid—but not of his family. He only feared never knowing himself.
She was desperate to say so many things.
She wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to take on the role of a sinner to talk to her.
That he could be himself. That he was enough.
But she didn’t have the courage to speak.
She kept her eyes on his beautiful, strong hand. “You’re not one of them. Not really. That’s why you’ve always felt on the outside. So … outside of your house is where you’ll find yourself. Beyond the walls of your family’s fortress—”
She heard him hitch his breath and looked up at him.
He hesitated for one brief moment, then leaned down and kissed her. His mouth was soft, and his lips opened, his tongue tasting like the wine he’d drunk earlier but also something deeper. More essential.
Incense and salt air.
She thought she’d never felt a kiss like that in her life.
It was almost holy. And now he was holding her face with both hands, his body angling toward hers.
Against hers. She let out a small moan and lifted herself to him.
Wrapped both arms over his shoulders. Lost herself in the kiss they were creating in time with the rocking of the boat.
Suddenly, from his pocket, his phone rang. He pulled away first, and they disconnected. He pulled the phone out and frowned at it. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She was breathless, everything inside her tight and warm.
“It’s Dad,” he said. “I gotta …” He looked forlorn.
“Go, go. I’m fine.”
He ducked his head to the phone and walked to the opposite side of the boat. She stood at the railing and watched the last bit of light fade from the sky alone.
Later that night, when Jude and Sailor dropped Ingrid off at her house, Cas stayed in Jude’s Porsche while Sailor jumped out and hugged Ingrid fiercely.
“You’re an angel,” she breathed into Ingrid’s hair. “My angel. What would I do without you?”