Moon White: Color Me Enchanted with Bonus Content (22 page)

That’s it. No more words, nothing, just several blank pages. Enough for me to write a long suicide note. But now I’m not so sure. Somehow I don’t think that’s what Mom had in mind for me after all. Sitting there in my idling car, a memory hits me. I recall how she talked about God after her visit with Diane. I remember how her eyes lit up, how she said, “God is so miraculous.” I thought she meant she was going to get well. I thought when she said, “Things have changed,” it meant that she’d been healed of her cancer. I also remember how she encouraged me to go to church, to go and find my own answers. That’s probably the reason I became friends with Lucy. Still, it never made sense. It doesn’t make sense now. I feel bewildered, like I was driving along and missed the turn. I am more lost than ever.

I
CALL INFORMATION AND ASK FOR THE NUMBER OF
D
IANE
R
OSS IN
S
EAL
R
OCK
. I have no idea if she still lives there, but I think it’s worth a shot. And then my call is put through, which makes me think I’m on the right track, but I get an answering machine. I listen to the message. The voice is warm and welcoming, but instead of leaving a message, I hang up, start the car, and drive north.

It’s past noon when I get to Seal Rock. And to my surprise, I feel ravenous, so I stop at a small greasy-looking café. I thought I’d given up red meat, but feeling like I’ve been wrong about so many things, and possibly as a way to thumb my nose at Augustine, I order a cheeseburger with everything. It tastes like the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Then, after I’m done, I go across the street to a phone booth by a gas station and look up Diane Ross’s name. To my relief, it’s listed, along with a street address. I ask the attendant for directions, then drive around the small town until I find an old-fashioned cottage-style house with gray shingle siding and bright red trim. I park in front and just sit there. I suspect that no one’s home, but I figure I should probably go up and knock. Still, I have no idea what I’ll say if someone opens the door.

I think I’m relieved when no one answers. Not that I’m leaving. My plan is to sit here until Diane comes home. Hopefully the
neighbors won’t think I’m a stalker. I study her house. I like the little front porch with its two wicker rockers. It looks like a nice place to chat and drink lemonade. If it were warmer, that is. I can’t believe I’ve never met this woman before. Judging by her house, I think I’d like her. But then maybe I have met her. Now that I think of it, there were a lot of people I’d never seen before at Mom’s funeral. I suppose I was too distracted to really notice.

As I wait for her to come home, I reread some pages of my mom’s journal. The words sound so much like her and make me feel close to her, as if she really is speaking to me. And I carefully reread that last section, still trying to put it all together. It’s plain to see that something huge happened to her while visiting Diane, but it irks me to know that she never really got a chance to tell us much about it. She was gone so quickly afterward.

A white car pulls into the driveway. I sort of jump, then prepare myself for whatever is coming next. Not that I exactly know how to do that. But I take in a slow, deep breath, trying to steady myself as I see a tall woman getting out of the car. She’s looking curiously over at my car. So, still holding on to Mom’s journal like it’s my lifeline, I get out of my car and call to her. “Diane?”

She nods. “Yes?”

“Diane Ross?”

Again, she nods. “Yes. Can I help you?”

I approach her. “My name is Heather Sinclair,” I begin.

She smiles now, quickly walking toward me with her hand outstretched. “Heather! Lily’s daughter. Why, I haven’t seen you in years. You’re all grown-up now.”

I sort of shrug. “I’m sixteen.”

“How
are
you?” she asks, peering into my eyes as if she’s really looking at me, as if she really wants to know how I am, instead
of just being courteous.

“I’m not sure.” I glance over my shoulder. I guess I’m having second thoughts, feeling nervous, maybe I should just run.

“Well, come inside,” she says, placing a hand on my shoulder and guiding me up the front walk. “I’m ready for a cup of tea. It’s been so chilly today.”

So we go into her house, which is just as charming on the inside as the outside, and soon she’s putting on a kettle and just chattering away at me as if I’m a long-lost friend.

“I was showing a house just now,” she says. “I’m a real-estate agent. Anyway, it’s so foggy and cold that I don’t think the prospective buyers were very impressed. It’s always so much easier to sell houses on sunny days.” She laughs as she fills a teapot with hot water. “But I’m sure you didn’t come all this way to hear about that.” She opens a box of chocolate-mint cookies and arranges some in a neat circle on a pretty porcelain plate. “Want to take these over to the breakfast nook?” she says. “There’s a heater vent underneath the table, and it’s always warm and cozy. I’ll bring our tea.”

So I take the plate of cookies and scoot onto the padded bench seat. I notice that the walls are, indeed, a sunny yellow like my mom described. And even on this gray day, I find this space comforting.

Her porcelain teapot is painted with delicate purple violets. She brings it over on a tray, then carefully fills up some very dainty matching teacups. “I always think that tea tastes better in china cups,” she says as she hands me a cup and saucer. “Just something my grandmother taught me.”

I smell the tea, which isn’t herbal, but for some reason it seems familiar. “I know this is a black tea,” I say, “but what kind is it?”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you. It’s Earl Grey, the only kind I drink.”

“My mother only drank herbal tea,” I say. “Well, after she got sick anyway. She used to drink another kind of tea before that. Maybe it was Earl Grey.”

“I find the aroma comforting,” she says. “It reminds me of lavender and sunshine.”

I nod. “Yes. That’s what it smells like.” Suddenly I realize that I really don’t like herbal tea. I only drank it because of my mom, and then later because of Augustine. This is much better. Go figure.

She makes a bit more small talk, then finally asks. “I’m so curious as to why you came to see me, Heather. Although I’m very pleased that you did. Are you going to tell me what brings you here?”

“Do you want the long version or the nutshell?” I ask.

She smiles. “I have all the time in the world.”

At first I think I’ll only tell her some things. Not everything. I’m afraid the whole truth would be too shocking. And yet something about this woman, or maybe the things my mom wrote about her, tells me maybe she can handle it. And so I spill my entire story. Starting with witchcraft and bad spells and Liz and Hudson and finally ending with Augustine’s affair and my father’s betrayal, and even my unsuccessful attempt at suicide.

“My goodness,” she says when I finally finish. “You’ve had quite a time of it, haven’t you, Heather?”

I hold up Mom’s journal now. “I just found this today,” I explain. “It must’ve been underneath the driver’s seat ever since my mom came here to see you, right before she died. It’s the only thing that kept me from another attempt at jumping off the cliff.” Then I tell her about the last entry. “That’s why I came to see you.”

She pours us both another cup of tea. “I’m so glad you did, Heather. I think this must’ve been a divine appointment.”

“A what?”

“I think God arranged for you to come here today.” She shakes her head slowly. “You see, I was supposed to be on a fall-foliage trip right now. My sister and I set it up last year. We were going to spend two weeks driving over to the East Coast, visiting states like Vermont and Connecticut to see the autumn leaves and historical sites. But her husband got very sick and we had to cancel. And so here I am at home, ready for you to come and visit. I believe God set that up, in the same way he worked it out for your mother to come here. I had no idea when she came that her cancer was so advanced. I was stunned when she died so soon afterward. But I was also thankful. That too had been a divine appointment.” She smiles at me. “God really does know what he’s doing. And right now, he’s trying to get your attention, Heather.”

“How can you be so sure?” I ask.

“It comes from a lifetime of knowing him in my heart,” she says. “And reading the Bible and praying. Just the basics of belief. God has all the answers.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” I say. “I mean, what about witchcraft? I feel like I’ve found some answers in that. And it’s definitely real. I saw and experienced supernatural things that I know were for real. How can I be sure that’s not the answer I need?”

She smiles. “Is it working for you?”

I shrug. “Maybe not too well. But it’s still a real thing.”

“Of course it’s a real thing, Heather. There are lots of spiritual forces in the world. There’s no denying that the supernatural exists. But just because it exists doesn’t mean that it’s more powerful than God. That’s like comparing a firefly to the sun.”

“Even so, how can I know that God is right for me? Simply because he’s more powerful?”

“God is the highest spiritual force there is. He is the Creator, the
Supreme Power, and King of the Universe. And one day all spiritual forces, including everything associated with witchcraft, will bow down and acknowledge that he is Lord of all and that they are powerless before him. He is that huge, that powerful, and yet he loves you so much he was willing to set it all aside just to reach you. His greatest desire is to enter into a personal and loving relationship with you.”

Now, I can’t explain how or why, but when Diane says this, something in me sort of clicks. Like,
I know
. Like,
This is the truth
. Still, I don’t want to seem so easily swayed. I’ve made so many quick decisions about important things lately, and so often I’ve been wrong. What if I’m wrong now?

“I know a little about witchcraft,” she says.

For some reason this surprises me. I’m sure my jaw drops as I wait for her to explain.

“My sister got into it when she was in college. We’d been raised as Christians, and I think she just wanted to rebel. Consequently she started dabbling in witchcraft. Fortunately, that only lasted about a year for her. She got so depressed and confused that she knew it was wrong. She’d experienced enough of the Lord to know the difference between a life filled with things like hope, love, forgiveness, joy, mercy, and how it compared with living in darkness and fear and doubt. And do you know what she told me when she gave it up?”

“No.”

“Well, she actually said a lot of things . . . for instance, how instead of feeling powerful, she began to feel very fearful.”

“I know that feeling.”

“She told me how evil spirits had plagued her, and how she’d learned that was the reason the Bible was so clear in its warnings
against witchcraft or contacting the dead.”

“I can relate to that.”

“But the part that really stayed with me was how she said that witchcraft was all about her trying to control her world. As if she could be the goddess of her own life. But when she came to the end of her rope, she had to admit it was impossible, not to mention frustrating.”

I nod. “Yes, I’ve felt like that too.”

“You see, being a Christian is about giving up all that control. It’s as if you’ve been driving for days and you’re hopelessly lost and turned around and tired, and so you get out of the driver’s seat and simply let God take the wheel. And he makes sure you get home safely. It’s about trusting him, the one who put all the stars in place, to chart your course. One of my favorite Scriptures is Proverbs 3:5-6, and it says that we need to trust God with our whole hearts, and that we shouldn’t rely on our own insight and understanding but that we should acknowledge God in everything and then he’ll show us the best way to go.”

“Does that really work?”

“It works for me and every other Christian I know. Certainly, it doesn’t mean that life is perfect or smooth or easy-breezy. God plans for us to have bumps along the way. That’s what makes us grow, makes us strong, and most importantly, makes us lean on him. God promises to replace our weakness with his strength — as long as we admit our weakness and let him step in and take over.”

“I feel pretty weak right now,” I admit. “And hopeless and useless and pathetic and flaky and — ”

“I get the picture,” she says. “And it’s good that you can admit those things, Heather, but you don’t need to beat yourself up, either. God wants you to confess to him where you’ve gone wrong, and
then he wants you to accept his forgiveness and invite him to come and live inside you.”

“That sounds too easy.”

“Fortunately, God did keep it fairly simple. Unlike witchcraft, with all its rules and rituals and formulas, Christianity is pretty straightforward. I think God knew that we couldn’t handle too much. John 3:16 lays it out pretty clearly by saying that God loved the whole world so much that he gave his only Son, Jesus, so that whoever believed in him could live forever.” She smiles at me with kind blue eyes. “That’s what your mom did, Heather. And she’s with him now.”