Truly, Madly, Like Me - Jo Watson Page 0,39

like she was remembering something herself. “A near-death experience, well, it can change everything about you. Your whole life.”

“What happens if I didn’t want my life to change?” I asked. “What happens if I liked my life and it was perfect?”

“Was it?” She raised a brow at me.

“Was it what?”

“Perfect?” She leaned closer to me and I didn’t answer right away. In fact, I didn’t answer at all. I couldn’t.

“Sometimes we can’t stop the change,” Samirah said, breaking the silence that we’d fallen into. “The change happens to us whether we’re ready for it, or not.”

I looked down at Cujo, who looked like he was getting restless. And then I looked back at Samirah. “I wasn’t ready for it,” I said softly, and then walked out.

CHAPTER 18

“Turn left at the . . . What?” I looked down at the piece of paper in my hands. I’d decided to go to this mediation thing after all. Not because it was something I desperately wanted to do, but because I was so bored I wanted to cry. On the way, I’d stopped over at the video store, hoping to catch Mark and reprimand him for the movies he’d given me, only he wasn’t there. A young guy with splotchy stubble and a squeaky voice had replaced him.

“Um, left at the . . .” I squinted at the piece of paper again. It was so hot and bright out here and I wished I hadn’t walked, but I was almost there. I looked around. I had just walked off the main road and I felt like I was in the middle of bloody nowhere again. This place was a place of vast nowheres and nothings.

“Rusted gate. Blue sign. Rusted bloody gate.” I scanned my surroundings for this rusted gate. “Nope,” I said to Cujo who was now looking at me. “Let’s walk a little more.” We kept on walking in the heat, why was it so hot at this time of year? I was sweating and just when I thought I couldn’t walk anymore, I saw it. A rusted, buckled gate that was falling apart in sections. Tied to the gate was a bunch of brightly colored purple feathers. I assumed this was a place for meditation.

I opened the gate, closed it behind me and then proceeded to walk down the long, red sandy driveway that led to a small, purple-painted farmhouse. I was covered in a thin layer of sweat and dust by the time I reached the house, and a few flies were buzzing around me. A few cars were parked outside. One of them was Samirah’s, I could see that from the giant “Vet” sticker on the bonnet. I walked up to the front of the house and knocked on the door. But when I got no answer, I pushed the door open and jumped at the sound of the wind chimes that suddenly rang out. Cujo gave a loud bark, as if the sounds had frightened him too.

“Come in, come in,” a soft, sing-song voice called. “We’re out back.”

I entered the small living room. Crystals and dream catchers and feathers and a lot of purple ribbons. I walked through to the patio outside: crystals and dream catchers and feathers and a lot of purple ribbons. But there were also people there.

“Hi.” I gave Samirah a small wave. She quickly walked up to me and introduced me to Cheryl, clearly the person who’d decorated this room. She was covered in purple tie-dye from head to toe. Her long dreadlocks were perched on the top of her head in a massive bun with a purple ribbon tied around them. I extended my hand for her to shake, but instead she gave me a little bow. So spiritual.

“And who is this?” she asked, turning to Cujo.

“This is not my dog,” I said flatly, casting a look at Samirah who shook her head, as if amused.

“Well, welcome to both of you.” She gestured for me to sit. “Human souls and animal souls all welcome.” I frowned; her name didn’t really match her persona. Cheryl seemed like such a mom name. The kind of name that drove an SUV and hosted book clubs, not the kind of name that had a purple stud through her nose.

I walked past Samirah and whispered a quick, “The sieve is in my handbag. And it’s for you,” at her. She chuckled so I turned around and shot her a very serious look, so she knew I wasn’t joking.