River
. . .
mini-exorcisms
The “Doc” Kirk referred to is an acupuncturist and Qigong energy healer, and “on the way” meant they’re making a two-hour drive.
Color me unsurprised.
In the interim, Kirk and his helper, Gavin, take me to the small medical center attached to the spa. The nurse on duty is an older woman named Debra, with eyes that have seen some shit. She’s unfazed by the drying mud covering half my body and splattered over the rest.
After ordering Kirk to stop hovering and wait outside, Debra gives me an exam—one that includes a thorough, completely unnecessary check for a concussion—then agrees with my self-diagnosis of a pinched nerve in my lower back.
She gives me a mild muscle relaxant and ibuprofen, along with a sheet of instructions for an ice/heat protocol and gentle stretches.
I thank her and hobble outside, emerging into a large courtyard. A stone pathway lines the edges, connecting the spa and medical center with the adjacent gym. In the center, a giant manzanita rises from the soil like a bloody hand with too many fingers, its bushy crown of leaves fluttering.
The rest of the space is a mixture of native grasses, gravel paths, and a dozen midsize copper sculptures.
I was too out of it earlier to notice them, but they’re pretty incredible.
One looks like it’s floating, thousands of tiny components bouncing and spinning in the wind.
If I weren’t encrusted with dried mud and all-around miserable, I might take a closer look.
All I want right now is a ride back to my cabin and a shower.
Not seeing Kirk anywhere, I make my way along the path toward the offshoot leading away from the buildings. When I get there, I’m relieved to find him waiting on a sun-drenched bench, the golf cart parked beneath a nearby tree.
He doesn’t notice me approaching, engrossed in the paperback he’s holding a few inches from his face, well beneath the brim of an enormous straw hat.
The relic looks like it’s been run over a few times, frayed edges waving in the breeze.
Several loose stalks tap against the book, drawing my focus to the cover.
I blink. Blink again. Shake my head and squint. But nope, I’m not imagining it—he’s actually reading a book with a half naked lumberjack on the cover. The title, in thick neon-pink cursive, is Axe Me, Daddy.
With a resigned sigh, I add another item to my growing list of Things I Wish I Didn’t Know About Kirk.
When I’m close enough to throw shade over his pasty, oddly hairless legs, he startles and looks up with a smile. I try very hard not to think about why his face is pink.
“Howdy! You’re looking more chipper.” His eyebrows waggle. “Debra give you the good stuff?”
“Something like that.”
Against my will, my gaze flickers to the book now lying open over his knee. The back cover is dominated by a sundress-clad woman bent over a tree stump and looking seductively over her shoulder.
“Wanna borrow it when I’m done? Riveting stuff.”
“No, thanks.” Lifting my hands, I shuffle a few steps backward. My heel catches on uneven stone, but thankfully the meds are kicking in; I only feel a twinge as I regain my balance. “I’m not really into smut books.”
Kirk’s smile flips to a scowl. He probably thinks he’s intimidating, but the look has about the same threat level as a growling Pomeranian. He closes the book and shoves it into the chest pocket of his battered overalls. It barely fits, two-thirds of it poking out and the pages bowing.
“It’s called romance, and smart men read it. There’s no better way to understand a woman’s mind.”
I nod, somehow managing to keep a straight face. “I believe you. I’m sure it’s full of wisdom.”
“Damn straight.” Appeased, his I’m probably high smile returns.
“Doc’s about forty-five minutes out, so we’ve got some time on our hands.
You wanna use the spa showers and get that mud off?
They’ve got hot water for days, and the lockers have fancy lounge pants and robes for you to put on after.
While you do that, I can head over to the Lodge and grab you some breakfast. How’s that sound? Good?”
His tone is nonchalant, but he’s blinking rapidly and wringing his hands in his lap like he’s nervous I’ll say no.
My eyes narrow as it occurs to me that Claudia likely pressured him to ensure my health and comfort.
Can’t have PAC’s best asset out of commission or, god forbid, forced to leave due to injury.
I scratch the back of my neck, grimacing when grit comes away under my fingernails. And that decides it—I’m not passing on a shower with guaranteed hot water just because I’m annoyed.
Rue has probably emptied our hot water tank by now anyway.
“A shower and food sound great.” Kirk looks thrilled, then crestfallen when I add, “But I’m going to pass on the energy healing.”
“What? No way! You need the doc. She’ll fix you right up.”
The desperate glint in his eyes has me shuffling back a few more steps.
“I’m good, really. All I need is rest. And a heating pad and an ice pack if they’re available.”
Kirk’s face puckers like I shoved a lemon into his mouth. His eyes close, his knuckles blanching where they grip the bench. When he begins heaving, each breath shallow and whistling, I panic.
I’m about to yell as loud as I can for Debra when he sneezes. Then sneezes again. And again. Every sneeze is accompanied by a full-body convulsion and ear-splitting, “ACHOO!”
He doesn’t cover his mouth.
Sunlight glistens on the alarmingly wide sprays of saliva as they peak and fall. Even though I’m out of range, I take another handful of steps back.
The violence finally ends. Kirk wipes his nose on the back of his hand, then grabs the book that fell out of his pocket during one of his mini-exorcisms.
“Hot damn, I needed that.”
A standard bless you is way too tame for what just happened, so I say, “Glad you survived,” then jab a thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going to head for the showers.”
Kirk sniffs and gives me a petulant look. “Did you know Qigong and acupuncture have been around for over four thousand years? Their benefits are well documented too. Even if you don’t subscribe to the mystical principles, what have you got to lose?”
My back is beginning to hurt from standing this long. I’m itching everywhere and starting to feel queasy from taking medication on an empty stomach.
But it’s Kirk’s droopy, dejected face that breaks me.
“You know what? Fine.”
Leaping to his feet, Kirk throws his arms in the air and whoops like I just told him Jerry Garcia is alive and the original Grateful Dead are going on tour.
“I knew you had it in ya, champ!”
Before I know what’s happening, he’s bounding toward me. Skinny legs pumping. Sasquatch feet pounding. Straw hat listing.
He’s moving too fast.
I can’t stop him. Can’t dodge. I can’t even get my hands up.
All I can do is brace myself as he grabs me in a hug and pounds my back with a smut book.
An hour later, I’m lying face down on a heated massage table as Dr. Liu turns me into a pincushion. I only know it’s happening because she informs me before each needle goes in; I haven’t felt a single poke, only increasing relief as my muscles quiver and relax.
The room is dim and warm. Ambient music plays in the background, complementing the trickle of water in a fountain near the door, and a diffuser pumps essential oils into the air.
The earthy aroma reminds me powerfully of my great-aunt Katherine.
I’m only vaguely aware of Dr. Liu moving around me and the pulsing waves of heat in my lower back, hips, and legs. Floating in the liminal space between sleep and wakefulness, I think of the woman I’ve called Granny since I could talk.
I was five the first time I heard someone call Katherine a witch, and I was confused because it wasn’t Halloween.
As I grew up, I heard people call her much worse—in grocery stores and restaurants, at school events, and on the sidelines of soccer games.
All because she didn’t conform to social norms. Because she didn’t dress, act, or talk like a typical grandmother.
To me, though, she’s never been strange or scary. She’s simply Granny. The backbone of our family and the only grandparent I’ve ever known.
In fifth grade, a kid in my class announced at recess that Granny worshipped the Devil and our whole family was going to Hell. He knew it was true because it came from his dad, a local pastor.
At first, it felt like I’d been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat.
But as everyone backed away from me like damnation was contagious, I got angry.
I told that kid his dad was an idiot. Granny didn’t believe in gods or devils, so how could she worship one?
He stuck his nose in the air and said, “Have fun burning for eternity with your loser family.”
I punched him in the face, broke his nose, and was suspended from school for two weeks.
My parents came to pick me up. I sat in the hallway outside the admin office and listened to my mom yell at the principal until my dad dragged her out. We stopped for ice cream on the way home, and they transferred me to a non-religious school.
The night Granny found out what happened, she asked me to come outside with her. I knew instantly what was happening. It was in my dad’s encouraging nod and how my mom stiffened, then sighed.
I stood up from the couch, nervous but excited. This was an Ashburn rite of passage, after all.
And it was finally my turn.
· · ·
My hands tucked beneath my thighs, I swing my feet back and forth beneath the bench. The wood is cold. The air too. But I don’t mind. Granny’s arm is around my shoulders and she’s warm.
Across the backyard, the full moon sits behind leafless trees. It looks pretty cool, like the glowing white surface is full of cracks.
“I seem to remember that whenever there’s a thunderstorm, you build a fort in your room and fill it with blankets and pillows. Is that right? And you put up twinkle lights and fill a basket with books and games?”
So far, this is a pretty normal conversation. I love talking to Granny, but I’m kind of bummed. I’m also annoyed at Wilder for making me think this was a big deal.
“Yep. I stock up on snacks and drinks too. Sometimes candy if I can find Dad’s stash. He moves it a lot though.”
“And why do you do all that?”
I give her a look. “You know—because the thunder scares Ivy. She only feels safe in my fort.”
“Hmm.”
I frown. “What does this have to do with Rob being stupid?”
Her arm falls away from my shoulders as she faces me. “Everyone has a place they feel safest, River—a fort they retreat to when they’re scared. Sometimes a fort is built with blankets in a brother’s bedroom. Most often, though, we build them in here.”
Her finger taps my forehead, a zing of pressure and heat that makes me gasp.
“The strongest forts of all are built when we’re unable to face the very fears that created them. Left untreated, our fears become convictions we repeat, over and over, until our internal walls are so high and impenetrable, nothing can get inside to challenge them.”
“You mean like how Ivy thinks she’ll be struck by lightning if she’s not in my fort? And how Rob was so sure he was right even though his dad is a liar?”
She nods, and I nod back like I understand. But I’m pretending; I don’t understand. How could Rob let his dad build a fort in his head with lies? Doesn’t he know how to think for himself?
I stare at the moon. The tree branches don’t look like cracks anymore; they look like a cage.
Granny’s warm fingers cover my cold ones. Her face is soft, creased, and familiar. But her eyes… they aren’t right. They don’t reflect any light at all, endless black like the space between stars.
A chill runs over me. I tense, and her hand tightens on mine.
“Listen, child. No matter how much you learn in life, what you don’t know will always vastly outweigh what you do.
This uncertainty is a great gift—an endless source of curiosity and awe—but only if you remain open to it.
Be mindful of the forts you build within.
Make sure there are windows, or the safety you seek will become the darkest of prisons. ”
Now I really don’t understand what she’s talking about. All I can focus on is how weird her voice sounds, lower than normal and echoey. Almost like two people are talking at the same time.
But there’s no one else here.
Her eyelids flutter, then snap open. When she speaks, her voice has changed again. This time, the echo is higher-pitched. Her hand turns to ice.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
“When you’re lost in darkness and without hope, a storm will come.
If you surrender to her chaos, she’ll bring you back to colors and light.
If you recognize her and dance with her wildness, you’ll keep each other safe forevermore.
But heed my warning: if you reject her gift, there will be no other chance for freedom. No escape from the prison within.”
My teeth are chattering, my heart pounding so hard my ears throb. Whatever is happening, I want it to stop.
I tug on her icy fingers. “Granny? Come back. Please, come back.”
She gasps, her head falling forward. Slowly, her fingers warm in mine. When she finally looks up, I swallow a sob. Her eyes are back to normal, full of tears as they scan my face.
“Oh, my boy. I’m so sorry for frightening you. I didn’t expect…” Her face crumples. “Come here, sweetling.”
She opens her arms. I lurch into her hug, sagging as I breathe in her familiar smell—sweet like flowers but spicy like Mom’s favorite candles.
After a minute, I feel brave again. “It’s okay, Granny. I was a little scared, but you’re not scary. No matter what, you’ll always be my favorite fort.”
She makes a soft, surprised sound.
The back door opens, spilling yellow light and the comforting voice of my mom.
“It’s freezing out here, you two. Come inside. We’re about to start the movie.”
· · ·
I wake up disoriented in an empty room, a heavy blanket draped over me. A hint of frankincense lingers in the air.
The past pulls at me like it wants me to stay. To remember. And I try to hold onto it—I always do.
But just like every other time I’ve fought to recall Granny’s message that day, the words twist and slip away.