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The phantoms in my head seem rather silly, as we’re soothed by the proprietress: a stately woman with a fine long nose, black hair pulled back into a bun, and layers of grey black clothes that make her look like some Hungarian gypsy. Despite the sternness of her aquiline appearance, her eyes are soft and motherly.
“I’m Tasia,” she says offering her hand. I see that she’s younger than I would think on first glance, her graceful hand is flawlessly smooth. On further inspection, her attire reminds me of the tattoo parlor where I got my cunt ring. Her dress is long, flowing almost to her ankles, and she’s draped with silk scarves around her shoulders that lend some color to her otherwise dark bearing. Her ears and hands drip with dozens of gold rings with large gemstones. And yet, she’s not over stated for her bearing. There doesn’t appear to be a single thing out of place. I’m impressed by her warmth and the nurturing smile that puts me at ease. This time, Peach has hit a pleasant jackpot with me.
“I’m Cassidy.” I take her hand graciously and smile. “You must know Peach? Or perhaps you remember her as Samantha Sykes?” I turn to Peach, who’s staring dumbfounded at the woman.
“No, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Peach says, extending her hand. “The Retreat must have changed owners since I was here.”
“Yes, and no,” Tasia says. “I’ve always owned this place, though there have been others who have managed it for me. I lived in Portugal for ten years, and am just recently returned.”
“Where’s Miriam?” Peach asks. “I told Cassidy so much about her, she’ll miss not meeting her.”
“Miriam, yes…” Tasia hesitates. “She chose to leave when I returned. You can’t have two bosses of a place so small.”
“No, I suppose not,” Peach answers. I can tell she’s disturbed though I don’t know why. The place is beginning to feel like home to me. The phantom cobwebs in the corners disappear as I get accustomed to the glowing lamps and lit candles, and fine dark hues of the beautiful interior.
Tasia shows us to a living room.
“You were Miriam’s lover,” Tasia says to Peach, so casually it takes some moments to sink into my brain. I’m shocked by the assertion, I’ve heard nothing of this, and I wonder why this woman would know.
“Yes, we were lovers,” Peach confirms, while I sit beside her beginning to tremble. I’m reminded of how angry she was over letters from my former lovers. I’m also reminded of her contention that she sometimes doesn’t tell the whole truth. I wonder now, did she come here wanting to reacquaint herself with her old lover? Has she been as devious with me about this trip, as she was the afternoon at Gram’s? This worries me as much as our relationship has already been shaken in recent weeks.
“Miriam is a fine woman; you might even see her while you stay here. She has a cottage up the main road a piece. She’d be delighted to see you, Samantha Clarisse, I suspect that she still has a great love for you.”
Peach blushes. I hope she realizes how uncomfortable I am listening to this. Why would this woman speak this way? And why does she call her Samantha? How did she know her middle name, Clarisse? The woman is as mysterious as this place on a stormy night.
“So will you be staying a few days?” Tasia asks.
“We plan to stay the summer somewhere tucked away. Cassidy is reeling from the LA smog.”
“And the traffic and the people. I’m a small town girl at heart,” I add.
Tasia nods. “LA’s a putrid place. I’ve been there just once, and hated it. There’s no way to feel anything ghostly there. All spiritual things must hide away and that only tends to distort them. It’s why there are so many horrible things happening in that city. Too much of the dark side becomes skewed, there’s no celebration in it anymore. So sad.”
I’m uncertain what her vague discourse means, and I wonder if she’s being purposefully obscure.
“You’ve come to the right place here at The Edge,” she tells us. “You’ll find lots of privacy and peace, and of course, the ocean—there’s nothing more effective at cleansing a clouded soul. Then of course, Samantha Clarisse knows what a special place this is, after the summers she spent with Miriam.”
We retire to our room. Peach is so exhausted, she doesn’t want to talk, but I think she’s just hiding from a confrontation. I can’t go to bed with these things on my mind, the woman, this place, and of course, the ghost of old lovers creates a commotion I can’t ignore.
“You never told me that you and Miriam were lovers. Is that why we came here?” I start.
“Don’t do this,” Peach warns.
“Don’t do what?” I remain calm though I’d like to explode. “I think you owe me an answer, or should I blister your butt the way you did mine for lying to me.”
“Can’t do it, Cass,” she smirks sarcastically, “I live by different rules than you do.”
“Just a simple explanation would do,” I suggest, not really wanting a fight.
“I’d like to see Miriam, but not to make love to her. She’s like a mother in a way, older than both of us and very stable. You’ll love her too, I know that.”
I say nothing, watching a look of consternation on Peach’s face. “What bothers me is that woman, Tasia. Don’t you think she’s kind of spooky?”
“Maybe a little, but this place is a little spooky. You didn’t tell me it was like this. I do like it though.”
“That’s what’s amazing. When Miriam ran it, it looked totally different. The rooms are so dark now. With Miriam they were bright, all kinds of flowers, very festive. Maybe I’m just shocked with the transformation. But I can’t for the life of me figure why Tasia would change the place so much. And all that weird spiritual talk, I think she’s nuts.”
“She obviously has a different temperament than your friend.” It seems odd that Peach is so disturbed with this place and I’m so comfortable. Usually in matters like this, it?
