“He’s been quite entertaining so far,” Callie said, cutting the line of conversation short. She suspected Emily didn’t like her any better than she liked Ann Chase. The reminder that Paul had spent the night with Ann made Callie remember part of her dream: the bells, the hypnotic rhythm of the trees—and that packet of herbs bursting into flames. Or was that part real?
“You don’t have to do this,” Emily said, indicating the gift certificate. “This…music thing.”
“I understand you’ve tried traditional music therapy before?”
“After one of my surgeries.”
“And did it help?”
Emily shrugged. “Not a great deal.”
Callie took a long look at Emily in the natural light. “Your color looks off.”
“My liver is failing. Which means they’ll take me off the chemo. And my husband won’t rest until he finds yet another treatment I don’t want to endure.”
“Do you meditate?”
“I can’t do yoga,” Emily said, raising her brows. “My bones are too brittle.”
“I was thinking less of yoga postures and more of a seated relaxation exercise, if you’re open to it.”
“I guess so.” Emily shrugged.
“Let’s have you sit there,” Callie said, pointing to an overstuffed chair in the corner.
Emily walked over and sat primly on the edge of the chair. She had the air of someone who was humoring a fool.
Callie put on some soft music: Bach cello solos.
“Yo-Yo Ma,” Emily said.
“Good choice?”
“We shall see.”
“I’ve had some favorable results with it.” The cello was the perfect balance of odd and even harmonics. Bach’s compositions had the opposite effect, with the music spaced at even intervals, something that never occurred in nature. But Callie liked Bach. His key changes often served to highlight particular energy blockages in a patient. And, in Callie’s opinion, there was no better expression of Bach’s cello music than Yo-Yo Ma’s. Callie adjusted the sound levels, turning up the bass slightly. She pulled a small pillow off the couch, gently placing it behind Emily’s head while encouraging her to sit back. “Better?”
“Yes.”
“Any pain or discomfort anywhere else?”
“No.”
“Okay then. Close your eyes and listen for a few minutes.” The piece always reminded Callie of water. “Let it wash over you.”
She’d recently heard Yo-Yo Ma interviewed. He said the Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major was all about flow. She took Emily’s hands and placed one on her lap and the other on the arm of the chair, palm up. Then she stepped back and watched. After a few minutes, Emily settled back into the chair. Instead of speaking, Callie began singing harmonic sounds: a third, a fifth. Then she closed her eyes and began to sing random tones, trying to find the home note that would vibrate at the core of Emily’s being. Unlike Rose’s home note, Callie could easily determine Emily’s; it was still very strong. But people need a balance of all frequencies to ground them. As with many people who’ve become ill, it was clear to Callie that Emily was missing some of them. By singing different notes, using an open vowel sound, Callie was able to fill in the missing tones.
The effect on Emily was subtle but immediate. Callie watched her muscles loosen, saw her sink even deeper into the chair.
“How do you feel?” Callie asked.
“All right,” Emily said.
“Good. Let’s stay with this, then.”
Yo-Yo Ma continued playing Bach, and Callie stopped singing as the notes descended. She watched the music take Emily with it. As the cello notes began to climb again, Callie harmonized with them a second time, visualizing the song carrying Emily over water. Emily’s breathing slowed, and Callie could see her truly relax into the chair. Outside the room, the waves broke rhythmically on the granite ledge below, creating their own counterpoint.
Callie sat in the chair opposite and quickly fell into her trance state, resting there for just a moment before letting her breathing sync up with Emily’s. The scent of oranges deepened, and Callie recognized the falling feeling that often accompanied the merging; she let herself go with it. She searched for the cancer, sought the inevitable catch in her breath where the music skipped, snagging itself on the rougher edges of illness. The chest was clear. If there had been cancer there before, it was gone now. She moved through Emily’s body once, then again. It might not be cancer she was feeling but it was something, and it was in the liver. Two patches. One was green, the same green as the lawn just outside the window, and the same texture. Centered in the green was a patch of brown, and beyond it a much darker object she couldn’t make out. As Callie tried to decipher its meaning, the music shifted from the Bach to a melody that was dissonant and much louder. Organ music? It reminded her of church. No—the opposite of church. The sound jolted her out of her trance, her eyes snapping open. The organ music disappeared, and Bach was back.
What the hell had just happened?
She was relieved to see that, whatever it was, it had not affected Emily, who still sat with her eyes closed and her hands where Callie had placed them. Her muscles were slack, and her face seemed to have softened. Callie turned off the music and opened the window wider to the ocean below, taking a few deep breaths to compose herself. It was a warm day, and the sun filled the room with light. The only sound for quite some time was the waves moving against the rocks.
Finally, Emily opened her eyes.
“How do you feel?” Callie asked. The color had come back to Emily’s cheeks, and her expression was far more relaxed.
“The same,” Emily said. “No change at all. How long have we been here?”
“Not too long,” Callie said. “A little over an hour.”
Emily looked surprised. “Well, at least the music was lovely.”
It was fine with Callie that Emily wouldn’t acknowledge the improvement. It wasn’t uncommon for a patient not to notice subtle change. “You should rest now,” Callie said. She needed to rest, too. She often picked up released energy during healing sessions, and usually she could shake it. But this session had been weird. What was it she’d seen? Or heard, for that matter? “Do you want me to close the window?”
“No,” Emily said, dismissing Callie. “Leave it open. I like the fresh air.”
“Oh, good,” Paul said, coming in the front door as Callie was getting ready to head up the staircase to her room. “I’ve been looking for you. Towner and Rafferty had to leave early. Something about Yellow Dog Island.”
Callie was surprised by the change of plans. “Are they okay?”
“I think so. They just wanted me to let you know.”
“Oh,” she said, wondering what she was supposed to do now. Was she still supposed to stay for the weekend? Were they coming back?
“Let’s go for a ride.”
She frowned. She really needed time to herself. “I’m tired.”
He looked skeptical. “You can’t be tired. It’s only noon.”
“I need rest after a session.”
“You look quite rested to me.”
“Wish I could say the same,” Callie said, looking him over. “Rough night?”
“What?” He feigned an innocent look.
“Your mother thinks you’re rude.”