them. “The idea of the devil is a man-made invention,” she said. “There’s no such thing. Inside every person there’s good and there’s bad. In each moment we choose which way to lean. But there’s no devil out there with horns and a red cape trying to entice us toward evil. You really need to do something about this aura, hon.”
“Do you believe Jesus was the actual Son of God?” I asked.
“Whew! What has gotten into you? Look, my mother’s Jewish and my dad Buddhist, so you may be barking up the wrong tree asking me this stuff. I believe we’re all the children of God and that Jesus was a very smart, very charismatic man with some excellent ideas. But that’s me. A Christian will tell you with just as much certainty that Jesus was absolutely the one and only child of God. Maybe you need to decide for yourself what to believe.”
I wondered. Was Jesus the actual Son of God? Was that possible? Was there a devil? Could he have a son? Was that what Zach meant, or was it something else entirely? I hated feeling so confused.
“What’s with all the religious questions?” she asked.
I shrugged. I so wished I could tell her the truth, have a grown-up in on this secret with me so I’d know what to do. Because that was one thing I definitely did not know. If Zach was being imprisoned, shouldn’t I tell? But I couldn’t yet, not until I understood better why he was going along with it. Plus I’d begun having fantasies where I told the truth, and the police charged up to Myra Clay’s house, and it turned out I’d hallucinated the whole thing. Then I got locked up with Gran and MK as a bunch of kids from school pointed and laughed.
“You really should be cleansing yourself,” Astrid said.
Maybe my confusion and worry gave me cause to claim temporary insanity or maybe I was hypnotized by the aura cleansing. Something must have happened, because the next words to come out of my mouth were these: “Do you know anything about … natural forms of healing?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, making me more nervous. “Like herbal? Acupuncture? Psychic healing?”
Oh God, she has no idea what I’m talking about . “I’m not sure. Like something that comes from inside a person?” I couldn’t believe what I was saying. Mom would murder me if she knew. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
Astrid’s confused expression turned to light bulb inspiration. “Oh, you mean like intuitive healing, or hands-on.”
My insides twisted, afraid to hope that maybe someone knew something about this that might actually be helpful. “Yeah, something like that, maybe.”
“Sure. I must have a boatload of books on the topic. Why don’t you come by later and borrow a few?”
A boatload of books has been written about this? “Maybe. Probably only one at a time, though,” I said, shocked to hear myself echo Zach’s words. “My mom doesn’t really like the idea of me looking into this stuff, what with my family’s history here and all.” I could hide a book under my mattress, but a boatload might get noticed.
“Don’t be silly! Do you want me to talk to her about it?”
“No! Definitely not. That would be disastrous,” I said.
She waved off my concern. “You teenagers are so dramatic.”
I had to make her understand. “Seriously, please, promise me you won’t mention it.”
I guess she caught from my tone how terrified I was because she said, “Okay, no worries. I’ll put a stack on my doorstep for you in case I’m not home when you stop by. Take whichever one speaks to you.”
“Thanks, Astrid,” I said, as I got up and walked toward the bakery. I passed Myra Clay’s house, looking to the windows, wondering if he was really in there, what he was doing, how he kept busy all day, if he was restless or bored or hot.
When I reached the bakery, Mom waved me in and handed me the bank pouch. “Honey, would you run and get me some change, please?”
I walked up the street to the bank. Melody was
“Do you believe Jesus was the actual Son of God?” I asked.
“Whew! What has gotten into you? Look, my mother’s Jewish and my dad Buddhist, so you may be barking up the wrong tree asking me this stuff. I believe we’re all the children of God and that Jesus was a very smart, very charismatic man with some excellent ideas. But that’s me. A Christian will tell you with just as much certainty that Jesus was absolutely the one and only child of God. Maybe you need to decide for yourself what to believe.”
I wondered. Was Jesus the actual Son of God? Was that possible? Was there a devil? Could he have a son? Was that what Zach meant, or was it something else entirely? I hated feeling so confused.
“What’s with all the religious questions?” she asked.
I shrugged. I so wished I could tell her the truth, have a grown-up in on this secret with me so I’d know what to do. Because that was one thing I definitely did not know. If Zach was being imprisoned, shouldn’t I tell? But I couldn’t yet, not until I understood better why he was going along with it. Plus I’d begun having fantasies where I told the truth, and the police charged up to Myra Clay’s house, and it turned out I’d hallucinated the whole thing. Then I got locked up with Gran and MK as a bunch of kids from school pointed and laughed.
“You really should be cleansing yourself,” Astrid said.
Maybe my confusion and worry gave me cause to claim temporary insanity or maybe I was hypnotized by the aura cleansing. Something must have happened, because the next words to come out of my mouth were these: “Do you know anything about … natural forms of healing?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, making me more nervous. “Like herbal? Acupuncture? Psychic healing?”
Oh God, she has no idea what I’m talking about . “I’m not sure. Like something that comes from inside a person?” I couldn’t believe what I was saying. Mom would murder me if she knew. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
Astrid’s confused expression turned to light bulb inspiration. “Oh, you mean like intuitive healing, or hands-on.”
My insides twisted, afraid to hope that maybe someone knew something about this that might actually be helpful. “Yeah, something like that, maybe.”
“Sure. I must have a boatload of books on the topic. Why don’t you come by later and borrow a few?”
A boatload of books has been written about this? “Maybe. Probably only one at a time, though,” I said, shocked to hear myself echo Zach’s words. “My mom doesn’t really like the idea of me looking into this stuff, what with my family’s history here and all.” I could hide a book under my mattress, but a boatload might get noticed.
“Don’t be silly! Do you want me to talk to her about it?”
“No! Definitely not. That would be disastrous,” I said.
She waved off my concern. “You teenagers are so dramatic.”
I had to make her understand. “Seriously, please, promise me you won’t mention it.”
I guess she caught from my tone how terrified I was because she said, “Okay, no worries. I’ll put a stack on my doorstep for you in case I’m not home when you stop by. Take whichever one speaks to you.”
“Thanks, Astrid,” I said, as I got up and walked toward the bakery. I passed Myra Clay’s house, looking to the windows, wondering if he was really in there, what he was doing, how he kept busy all day, if he was restless or bored or hot.
When I reached the bakery, Mom waved me in and handed me the bank pouch. “Honey, would you run and get me some change, please?”
I walked up the street to the bank. Melody was
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