Bella pulled her hands back to her lap and noticed they were cold and trembling. “I don’t know, Carrie. All I know is that I feel dry. Like bone-dust dry and I might disappear. Fly away or something. I don’t want to fly away like some plastic bag.”
“No, but think about it. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
Bella looked around at the rusted patio chairs and the rotted-out firewood and ax by a pile of stones. “I’d disappear.”
“So disappear then, Bella. See what it’s like. Might not be as bad as you think.”
Bella got to her feet. “Look. Sorry if this is rude, but I didn’t come here for advice. I just wanted to catch up, especially if we’ll be working together. I didn’t plan—”
Carrie tugged at Bella’s sleeve. “Shhhhhhh, okay, okay, I’m sorry, sit down, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry or push. You’re perfect. Sit down.”
“Can we change the subject?”
“Of course.”
Three months passed before Bella found herself free from cravings and feeling more upbeat than she had in a long time. She had moved in with Carrie shortly after their reunion, and living together felt natural. During those months, Bella was experiencing all kinds of déja vu. At fourteen, Bella had always wanted to be more like Carrie, and she was finding years later that she felt that way again. Carrie was brave and strange and blunt and she cursed and spoke about menstruation and masturbation like they were completely normal things to bring up in small talk. And this delighted Bella.
Carrie also wore tight black outfits and different-colored scarves around her neck every day, which Bella found sophisticated and different, especially in Santa Fe, where people mostly wore ugly shapeless dresses and Birkenstocks. She figured Carrie must have a thing for Audrey Hepburn, like Bella’s mother who used to watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s obsessively when she was a young girl growing up in Korea. Charming girls had a thing for other charming girls, as if recognizing their gift to entice. Carrie’s swearing and her humor and her bright-orange and blue and green scarves were all so very charming. To Bella, at least, who preferred wearing neutral colors and always thought long and hard about what she said before she said it. But like most things in life, the moment usually passed and her chance disappeared. She wanted to sparkle too, but she drew into herself like introverts usually do, and she just watched for the shine in others.
At the very least she knew she felt at home with Carrie and up at the spa. The walls and slanted ceilings of the rooms at Ten Thousand Waves were covered in honey-colored wood, and like the rest of the natural desert landscape and the adobe architecture in New Mexico, the wood relaxed Bella’s body and made her feel at ease. Protected. Even the ancient samurai sword and the changing display of fine silk kimono robes by the lobby gave Bella some feeling of old world beauty and order, which she needed, what with all the moving that was going on inside of her. Shortly after she first laid eyes on the sword in its silk-lined case in Sakura, Bella watched a documentary about samurai sword-making and how putting the blade repeatedly in fire and folding the metal thousands of times upon itself drove carbon into the belly of the steel, and gave the sword its notorious power and strength. Their sword in particular was rumored to have killed ten thousand soldiers in one day and had gone on to protect the Emperor from the dead soldiers’ and their families’ vengeful spirits.
Perhaps most fascinating of all, Bella heard from the other therapists about a little girl ghost who lived in Sakura, and though people said she wasn’t bad or mean, Bella knew somehow she was a revenge ghost, the kind that her parents spoke of when she was young, stuck between earth and the afterlife because of some grave injustice done to her. “This type of ghost is the most sad and angry,” her mother had explained when Bella was five. “They have holes deep inside that can only get filled by getting their revenge.” Dead flowers had been disappearing and reappearing in the bathtub of their hallway bathroom. “My younger sister fell down a well when she was three and drowned. She never got to live the life she was supposed to live, and she’s angry for that. I don’t blame her. I was supposed to watch her. I didn’t.” When her mother hit a deer on 495 outside of Boston and died shortly after the crash, neither Bella nor her father asked to see the deer’s body or had any questions for the police officers. They knew some circle had completed in the universe. They had both been waiting.
Whenever Bella was assigned to Sakura, especially on nights when darkness began swallowing the pine trees and small waterfalls outside and the windows reflected only her faint image back to her, arms outstretched, back sloped over the table, she kept quiet watch. She thought at any moment she might see black smoke or steam floating up from under the massage table, perhaps some ugly green thing coming out of one of the vents. But she never saw anything. A few times at the end of the month when she was menstruating, she thought she felt a warm breath on her neck, but she would turn and there would be nothing. She figured it must be the hormones moving inside her, but she never thought about all that blood slicking down her insides. Carrie had only mentioned the ghost one time, saying she didn’t know much about her, only that she had heard she showed up through blood.
Bella’s shift on Easter Sunday was booked solid with eighty-minute massages, salt scrubs, and yasuragi head and neck treatments. By seven, Bella’s joints ached and she felt lightheaded from not having eaten enough before the shift. She quickly ate two apples and a handful of nuts before splashing some water on her face.
The sun was shining a strange gold light through the branches of the pine trees and the waiting room danced with light and dark shapes.
A handsome man in his forties was sitting by the fireplace, sipping from a white paper cup.
The spa hostess introduced the two of them to each other before bowing to the guest and then bowing to Bella.
Bella smiled as she always did during the ritual, thinking the whole affair of white people bowing to each other was sort of ridiculous.
“I’m Chris,” he said, extending his hand. He had a friendly smile but his eyes were wet and unfocused and he stank of alcohol.
As soon as they touched, Bella saw bright red. She felt a stinging in her right temple.
“I’m also drunk,” he said, kicking one of his blue slippers off his foot.
Mary, the spa hostess, immediately picked it up with both hands, bowed, and placed it before the man’s bare foot.
“Your restaurant has the best sakes outside of Japan. It’s true! I tried them all.”
Bella motioned him to the double doors. “We’re upstairs in Sakura. Follow me.”
It was an unusually warm night outside. The two climbed the wood staircase, then headed past the communal tub and down a long hallway. When they reached the blue tapestry with the image of a moon and two red-eyed cranes on it, Bella was still wondering where she had seen this man before. Something familiar was circling around her. Something evil.
“Don’t I know you? You look so familiar.” She closed the door behind them and locked it. She pointed to the black hook on the wall, then raised the edge of the sheet and towel off the massage table, and looked away. “Go ahead and hang your kimono up on that hook and then lie facedown. We can adjust the face cradle if it’s uncomfortable.”
The man got on the table and Bella immediately covered him.