Page 74 of When to Call a Blitz

“My mom is spiritual,” she tells me. “She got even more so when my dad passed away. I grew up around crystals, pendulums, and tarot. All of that.”

“Like saging and all of that?”

“Sometimes, but not white sage.”

“Why not?”

She shakes her head. “Smudging with white sage is a closed practice.”

I bite my bottom lip, wracking my brain for what that means. When she looks at me, she can tell I’m confused and adds, “Aclosed practice is when a spiritual tradition is considered specific and exclusive to a group of people. Smudging is really rooted in Native American culture.”

“So, it’s out of respect.”

“It’s respect for sure. It’s a huge cultural significance to them, and there’s also the simple fact that it’s not technically endangered, but there is limited access to it. It gets over harvested and unfortunately the Native people are generally the last to get their hands on it. I don’t know. If I’m practicing something spiritually, I want it to be pure. A lot of traditions come from other places and it all has to be respected.”

“But you love crystals? I don’t think I’ve seen you with any.”

She smiles, pulling a small chain from around her neck, a small purple crystal in the center.

“What does it mean?”

She sighs, dropping it. “It’s amethyst. My mom gave it to me. It’s supposed to be healing.”

“Would it heal me?”

“If you believe it will. If you have it and don’t respect it, probably not. There’s a lot of people that go into things they know nothing about with the intention of finding fault in it.”

“I’m just about open to anything,” I tell her, and it’s the honest truth.”

“Then maybe I’ll get you a bracelet one day. Or a necklace of your own, if you’re that kinda guy.” She winks.

“I think I could be that kind of guy.”

If you want me to be.

35

EMMETT

We’re over halfway through November, it snowed for the first time this year, and I’m out back feeding a fucking opossum when Heidi walks into the house whistling. I watch her from through the window as she looks around, not yet spotting me.

She pulls her flannel tighter, obstructing my view of the naked patch of skin between her shirt and the jeans sitting low on her hips.

There’s a sparkle in her eye that hasn’t been there in a hot minute, and I can feel my eye twitch.

My issues aren’t her fucking responsibility, and I don’t want to put her through the wringer because I can’t figure out what the hell I want.

But I never thought I’d feel this way knowing that she was open to dating other men.

Leaving the plate beside the opossum house, I walk back into the house to find her in the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, I watch her for a second as she sticks dishes into the dishwasher.

“What have you been up to?” I ask, and when she jumps, I realize she’s had headphones in. “Sorry,” I smirk.

She studies me, her face stoic. For the first time in awhile, I can’t seem to read her. “Not much, you?” she says flatly.

My jaw ticks. “Not much. Do anything fun lately?”

Heidi goes back to washing dishes, and I watch as her eyes narrow. “Nothing that I can think of that would concern you, Emmett. Still going on runs that you won’t join me on for one reason or another. Still watching your daughter and still being avoided by you.”

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