Page 17 of Big Pitch Energy

“You should do it more often.”

“What would all my needy clients do without me?”

“Probably sign terrible contracts and cry themselves to sleep,” I said.

“That’s the least of the damage some of them would do,” he said with a chuckle. “But enough of that. You’re still feeling good?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I feel like I turned a corner. Or something.”

“That’s good.” Ray's voice held the careful optimism he's mastered during my fifteen months of recovery. “It seems like whatever you're doing, it's working.”

“Even if that something is Reiki?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“I've been in this business twenty-five years. I've seen players wear the same unwashed socks through a playoff series. Had a closer who wouldn't step on the mound without eating exactly three red Skittles. If this energy healing thing is giving you even one extra tick on the gun, keep doing it.”

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but...I don’t know. After the first session, something shifted. Then it happened again after the second one.” I shrugged. “Maybe it’s all in my head, maybe not. But I felt lighter. Stronger.”

“I won’t pretend to understand what Reiki or any of that woo-woo stuff your mom talks about does, but if it’s working, I’m all for it.”

“That's practically a testimonial.” I chuckled. “Mom will want to put it on her website.”

“She’s welcome to it,” he said, his voice softening in that way it always does when he refers to Mom. “Which reminds me, I was thinking about stopping down next week. If you're gonna be around.”

“Where else would I be?”

“Right,” he said. “I’ll text you my plans. Maybe we could grab dinner while I'm there? The three of us?”

I caught the subtle shift in his voice. The one that always made me wonder if he was including mom for more than professional reasons. I’ve never asked and didn’t plan to. If mymom had feelings for Ray, or vice versa, it’s none of my business. Probably.

“Subtle, Ray. Real subtle.”

“What? It's just dinner. Why wouldn’t I invite her along? We’ve known each other since you were in college.”

I stopped outside her shop, tucked just off Main Street, with a front window full of crystals, wind chimes, and twinkle lights.

“I’m outside her shop now. I’ll mention dinner to her.”

“Sounds good,” he said.

“And I’ll let you know how my bullpen goes Wednesday.”

“That sounds even better.”

Windchimes tinkled as I pushed open the door to Moonlight and Marigolds. The familiar scent hit me immediately. It’s something warm and earthy, like sandalwood and orange peel, layered over patchouli. The afternoon sun filtered through the crystals displayed throughout the shop, scattering rainbow prisms across the polished wooden floors.

I looked around at the shelves of polished stones, handmade jewelry, rows of essential oils, and dreamcatchers dangling from the ceiling beams. Then there were the endless racks of flowy skirts, harem pants, and ponchos. It should have felt cluttered and chaotic. But somehow, it felt calm.

“Sammy!” my mom said, emerging from the back room with a smile that stretched across her whole face. “I’m surprised to see you here. Don’t you have a session with Hope?”

I nodded.

“I’m a little early so I figured I’d pop in here for a few minutes.”

“That’s nice.”

She settled onto the chair behind the counter.

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