“How so?” she asked.
A comfortable silence expanded throughout their bubble, soft illumination from the dashboard contributing to the sense of personal, reserved bonding. The car made for a confession booth, with he and she alternating roles of priest and parishioner.
“When I feel overwhelmed, or afraid, I focus on success and money and material possessions. I still find myself looking to money and things when feeling certain emotions is just too bloody hard. I revel in consumption to fill the hole in my heart, I suppose, and of course no matter how much stuff I have, stuff will never suffice to bring me spiritual wholeness. Which means I’m not blameless in this. My involvement with Joe arose from greed.”
“Fair.” Her voice came out croaky. She cleared her throat, some of the hard and brittle dirt inside crumbling with a detoxing breath, a yogic lesson. Breathe in positivity, breathe out negativity. Unknot fury and heal the grief beneath it. “I have a hole in my heart, too. More like a rotten pit, but I digress.”
He turned his head, cheek muscle twitching with a melancholy bend of the lips. “Seems we’re a bit of a pair in that regard. It took me so long to even begin to figure out how to fill that void, that screaming gap threatening to suck up everything. When I was younger and the band was starting out, during our first stateside tour in particular, I sought fulfilment in every single cocked up way you can imagine. Drinking, drugs, surrounding myself with an entourage of flatterers and fake friends. Buying junk just to spend money. Sex with people I didn’t care about—that one probably took the biggest pieces of my soul. And I wondered why I kept feeling worse and worse despite doing more and more of those things. Stupid of me, not to see the truth in front of my face. I’m still struggling with the materialistic mindset, chasing external validation and victory and such, but I’m trying to be better.”
Brian deserved more credit. He’d figured a lot out, accrued a king’s ransom of wisdom while navigating, as a young man, a career and lifestyle set up to reward and enable hedonism and excess.
“I am, too. Trying to be better. But I could try harder. And I admire you for everything you’ve done,” she said.
“Not sure how admirable I am, but thank you. And I look up to you as well, to have achieved so much after everything you went through. So don’t sell yourself short. We’re both works in progress.”
Her guard lowered enough for her to acknowledge that she liked, she really liked, the ongoing and consistent way that Brian rolled the two of them into a “we.” A team, which they needed to be to solve the problem plaguing their lives. Fixing their broken pieces, together, might come later.
In the left lane, a Jaguar the color of earwax inched by. A hirsute, shirtless man hung out of the passenger seat, shaking a fist and hurling invective at Brian’s rolled-up window.
Helen studied his tirade with a blend of discomfort, amusement, and empathy. She taught yoga for important reasons, and with conviction. To help others, and herself, let go of all of the crap and embrace the Zen.
“You think he has a hole in his heart, too?” she asked.
Brian threw his head back and let rip a peal of laughter, the roundness and timing blasting tension into smithereens. He cast a baleful glance at the provocateur. “Among other issues, I’d wager.”
Glittery with spontaneity, she pulled her wallet from her satchel and slipped out one of the free class cards. Of course the random dude wouldn’t come to Minneapolis, but the thought counted. She handed the card to Brian and bent her head at the commotion beyond his Aston Martin. Brian took her offering, shared a knowing look with her, and rolled down his widow.
Screaming Dude accepted, scowled at the paper rectangle in his hand, and threw the card onto the street. But at least he quit yelling and rolled up his window.
“Oh, well,” Helen said.
“You had a good idea. Some people are inconsolable.”
“Wonder what his problem is.”
“That kind of thing happens all of the time here. He might have a gripe with me stemming from something in the past, some beef with one of my band members or ex-manager.”
The invocation of Joe cast a pall over the car, Brian’s indirection and censorship of the man’s name worsening the discomfiture. A figurative specter now haunted them. The crisp fragrance of perfumed ornamental trees became a stifling miasma. So much for nixing tension. No better time than the present to yank off the sticky bandage.
“That reminds me, what did you want to talk about before we got in the car?” she asked.
“Ah, God.”
And here they went, careening down the road to hell once again. While stalled on an actual road, going nowhere. There had to be some symbolism. Helen let out a sarcastic snicker.
At times like these, one really did have to make a choice between tears and laughter.
“Lay it on me.” Hey, this was becoming her catchphrase. Boo-yah, and stuff.
“The clone we talked about showed up again, after I rang you. She stuck a hand through my body then vanished into nothing. She put marks on me, or took credit for an injury.”
Helen rubbed her forehead. A nearby car’s honking horn set off a flurry of successive bleats, their cacophony worsening the chaos in her head. “Are you okay? Hurt?”
“I’m fine. A bruise is all. I can’t say for certain if she really caused the wound or was bluffing to try to scare or rattle me.”
Sharp edges of the grimoire pressed into her flesh through her bag, the book making its presence known like a dead albatross. “Did she offer any clues, anything I might be able to work with? Hints as to the locations of the crystals, the next steps of their plan?”
“Vague threats. She said that Joe
