The Good House Part 49

Myles's eyes shone. "I see you've got it all figured out."

"Actually, I'm making this up as I go. I made this decision...right now."

It seemed clear, inevitable. She would have to be closer to Corey. Angela gazed toward the living room, at the piano and all the reminders of Gramma Marie. If she'd been listening to her grandmother's spirit, she realized, she would have made this decision a long time ago.

"An agent, huh?" Myles said. "So, you want to create greatness."

"d.a.m.n right. I have a few greats in mind."

"Like who? Anyone I know?"

"Naomi Price. She's mostly done daytime, and a couple of TV movies. For now."

Myles shrugged. "I know the name, but I'm not seeing a face," he said.

Angela smiled. "You will. She's beautiful."

"And she'll have a beautiful agent. Just like Corey has a beautiful mother."

Angela's ears flamed. "If I can't be a good mother, beautiful is a nice consolation prize."

"Oh, Iknow you're a good mother. And you'll be a better mother when you're closer to your son, sweetheart. Take it from me. If not for e-mail, my stepson and I would be strangers. I finally gave up trying to work around my ex-wife's power plays, so I rationalized my way out of it. I lived with Diego for three short years when he was very young. His mother re-married. He forgot me. It still hurts. Take your chance with Corey while you have it."

"I will. You're right." Because she couldn't make herself stare into Myles's eyes, Angela glanced toward a clay figurine on the fireplace mantel, riveted by its cowrie sh.e.l.l eyes. She looked at the ring on her finger again.

"I remember your Gramma Marie wearing that ring," Myles said.

Angela felt flushed with memories, both recent and distant. Gazing at her hand, she imagined the ring on Gramma Marie's finger. "I had the strangest experience with Corey and this ring the other day," she said. "And the most wonderful experience. I'm still a little spun by it."

"What happened?"

So, she told him. She told him about her conversation with Corey in his bedroom and his sudden confession, returning her ring. She told him about Gramma Marie's papers and the ceremony at The Spot. She told him about the reappearance of Sean Leahy's letter. She hadn't even told Tariq all of the details yet, feeling shy about it, but she didn't feel shy with Myles.

"What do you think of all that?" Myles asked when she finished.

She shook her head. She'd been wondering that since the night it happened. "To be honest, Myles, I don't know what to think of it. I don't believe in this kind of thing. But I have to admit, when Corey performed that ceremony, Ifelt ..." She realized she didn't have the words to express it. She'd felt a presence. She'd felt Gramma Marie. She'd felt as if she were standing at a crossroads, just like Gramma Marie's papers said; between realms. The experience had resonated with her so deeply that she and Corey had agreed not to perform any more spells from Gramma Marie's papers, not right away. They would learn more aboutvodou first. And her family. She had cousins in Louisiana whose names she didn't know.

"Anyway, I was proud of Corey," Angela went on. "He was so directed, sofocused . I've never seen him that way about anything, except maybe the music he writes, or his poems. I've been trying to imprint Gramma Marie on him his whole life, and now out of the blue he found this connection to her without me. It's all so surprising. I can hardly take it in."

"It's not out of the blue," Myles said. "Without your work, it wouldn't have happened."

"But there's so much I didn't know. He learned it himself."

"It's a wonderful thing, Angie," Myles said. "Truly. Your son is helping you learn about your grandmother. If that's not G.o.d's hand at work, I don't know what is."

They had lingered by the door long enough, so they went out to the front porch. Angela didn't turn on the porch light even though the sky was velvet, dark except for the distant glitter of stars. The pops and whistles behind the house were louder here, but not so loud that they raised their voices. They spoke softly.

"What about the rest, Myles? Do you believe in magic?"

"I can certainly see how some people could."

"That's a very diplomatic evasion."

"Thank you. I'm proud of myself for that one." He laughed, just before his eyes became earnest. "Magic? Well, I can tell you from experience, sometimes life has magical qualities. I can think of one time life felt magical to me."

Angela's heart bounded. She didn't have to ask what time he meant. She knew.

Myles clasped her hands, holding tight. "If I have to, I could get to like Tariq," he said. "So I hope everything turns out the way you want, Angie. When all the dust has settled, call me either way. I'll be back in town awhile, and I'd like to know you again. I'll make you dinner, maybearroz con pollo, something Cuban. Just tell me how many places to set."

"I'll do that," she said. "Is it the same number?"

"Same number," he said, and smiled. "It's good to have you home, Angie."

"It's good to be home."

Angela could feel the deep crevices carved by the lines on Myles's warm palms, the story of his future. Angela already knew hers: Her family was about to have a bad time. But it was also about to become something entirely new, better than it had been.

With a thunderous pop, the sky flooded with artificial daylight. For an instant, Myles's face came into perfect, luminous view, like a snapshot; his shiny shaven head, those coppery eyes, the warm, pensive smile on his lips. When the rockets died, his face went dark, hidden by the night.

But Angela knew it was only for a time.

If she waited, the skies would flare again.

Acknowledgments.

First, thanks to Jackie McArthur, for sharing the details of the tragic loss of your son, Justin. I wish I could turn time back for you.

Thanks, and apologies, to the town of Cathlamet, Washington, in Wahkiak.u.m County, which I erased from the map and fictionalized as Sacajawea. The virtues described herein are yours, and the flaws are Sacajawea's. Special thanks to Dennis and Audrian Belcher, owners of the Bradley House of Cathlamet, a charming bed-and-breakfast that bears a striking resemblance to the Good House, butwithout the curse. (See the house atwww.bradleyhousebb.com. ) Thanks to my literary agent, John Hawkins of John Hawkins a.s.sociates, as well as his a.s.sistant, Mathew Miele. Thanks to my film agent, Michael Prevett of the Firm. Thanks to Tracy Sherrod, who first acquired this novel for Atria Books, and to my current editor, Malaika Adero, for her insights as she shepherded it. Thanks also to Malaika's a.s.sistant, Demond Jarrett.

Thanks to Richard Dobson, for his patience in sharing his knowledge of Native American magic traditions as well as his guidance regarding the premise of this novel.

I intendedThe Good House to be a story about the consequences of abusing magic, and I wanted to base that magical system within black traditions-which is why I chosevodou . But this is not avodou book. Anyone who is curious aboutvodou and other African-based religions in their truer form should read works of nonfiction, as I did. The books I found most helpful wereFlash of the Spirit by Robert Farris Thompson;Jambalaya by Luisah Teish;Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn , by Karen McCarthy Brown;Vodou Visions by Sallie Ann Gla.s.sman;The Way of the Orisa: Empowering Your Life Through the Ancient Religion of Ifa by Philip John Neimark;Divine Hors.e.m.e.n: The Living G.o.ds of Haiti by Maya Deren; andVoodoo Search for the Spirit by Laennec Hurbon. (There are no references to a word being "stolen" from theloa Papa Legba in any of these texts; this fict.i.tious premise is the author's invention, as is the manifestation of thebaka . Invodou lore, abaka is a demon who usually comes in animal form.) Sacagawea, a young Shoshone woman, made a critical contribution as an interpreter and guide on the Lewis and Clark expedition. In this text, I use the common misspelling of her name, Sacajawea, with apologies to those who know better. Thanks to James LeMonds, author ofSouth of Seattle: Notes on Life in the Northwest Woods, for the poetry of his own writing as well as his observant eyes when reading mine. Other books that were helpful:Beach of Heaven: A History of Wahkiak.u.m County by Irene Martin;Chinook: A History and Dictionary by Edward Harper Thomas; andTrees and Shrubs of Washington by C. P. Lyons. Thanks also to Karen Eisenberg, for our hiking adventure, and to novelist Chris Bunch, for his archery lesson.

Thanks to the Cowlitz County Hall of Justice and Joannie Bjorge, a corrections officer with the Wahkiak.u.m County Sheriff's office. Thanks to Peter Ellis, managing editor of the LongviewDaily News . Thanks to Lydia Martin and Alexis Mulman-Cajou for a.s.sistance with translations.

Thanks to playwright Caroline Wood, Joe Daggy, Roger Werth, Cindy Lopez, and Steve and Kim Plinck for providing faces and spirits for some of these characters. And to Angela and Courtney, power-couple extraordinaire, for the faces and spirits of Angela and Myles.

Thanks to writer Joan LeMieux for hosting those wonderful writers' dinners, which I will miss. Thanks also to Yolanda Everette-Brunelle, Rosalind Bell, Mukulu Mweu-Mijiga and Brian Mijiga, Ronn and Felicha Hanley, Farryl Dolph, and all of my other friends who tolerated my long disappearances and helped me make a home in a new place. Thanks to O. B. Hill, owner of Reflections Bookstore in Portland, for your support and your struggles. Thanks to Olympia Duhart, for your advance reading.

Thanks to Mom, Dad, Johnita, and Lydia, who are always with me even when they aren't. Thanks to Steve and Nicki, for the joy of a new family.

Thanks to my grandmother, Lottie Sears Houston, for her fight.

Thanks to G.o.d.

Thanks to the ancestors.

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