“Your boss? She should be working foryou,” my dad says, and I have to agree.
“So, Arthur, did you enjoy that? Do you like being an oracle?” Carl asks. “I think you really helped her.”
“I hope I did. It’s always nice to have visitors. Will we have more?”
“Would you like to?” I ask.
“I don’t see why not.”
So that settles it. I doubt we will be able to lure many others to us out here in the woods, but it’s good to know that my father is enthusiastic if the opportunity presents itself again. It was a fun experiment, and a confirmation that my father is indeed as wise as I suspected, Alzheimer’s be damned.
Chapter 30
The next few weeks pass quietly, with sun and snow alternating but the temperature consistently below freezing. My father and I take daily walks up and down the driveway, and we go into town once in a while: to Lorne’s for breakfast, or the post office, or Deb’s for groceries. One day, we make the hour-long drive to the hospital for his quarterly appointments. His primary doctor confirms that he has lost a bit of ground, memory-wise, and his hips could use replacing within the next year or two, but otherwise, he is in good health for his age. It makes me realize thatIhaven’t actually seen a doctor in over a year, or is it two? Maybe in the spring, I tell myself. And while I’m at it, I will need a haircut as well. The blond has grown out so much that my hair is now two distinct colors: yellow on the bottom, brown on the top.
One night at the end of January, I am sipping whisky by the fire and perusing job postings online. There is an opening for a vet tech at the animal hospital where Dominic had his teeth removed last summer. Of course, I am not qualified for the job without an associate’s degree, but for a moment, I let myself daydream. Maybe there is a way to work toward that goal. Maybe I can find a way to balance taking care of my father, making some money, and going back to school. Maybe there is a future in which I build a career I actually enjoy. After all, that’s what Nina has. That’s what my mother has. Why not me, too? My thoughts are interrupted by a ping: a new email from Gemma.
Shortly after Inez and Gemma’s visit with my father, Inez had asked my permission to publish an article about Gemma’s experience,and I had consented without any concern or specific expectation. I figured our culture is so awash in content these days that no one would pay the article much mind, but I knew my father would get a kick out of it. Finally: his fifteen minutes of fame. It would be a nice record for us to have of this phase in our lives. Or rather, a record for me to have once my father is gone.
In her email, Gemma provides a preview link to the piece, which is set to go live tomorrow, and she concludes with:Where should we link so readers can make appointments? Prepare to blow up! Xoxox.
Appointments? Blow up? I’m a little caught off guard as I click through and read the headline.
Fulfilling My Prophecy Meant Choosing Myself
How a visit to an unlikely oracle gave wellness-brand founder Gemma Dwyer the courage to leave her broken marriage—and level up her life.
“Oh wow,” I say aloud. I had expected a whimsical little write-up about a girls’ trip to the woods, but this angle is far more dramatic than I had imagined. The essay takes the form of an “as told to,” meaning it is from Gemma’s perspective, but it was written by one of Inez’s editors. I fly through the write-up, which is surprisingly moving and vulnerable. I had not realized just how dysfunctional Gemma’s marriage to a morally rudderless hedge-fund manager had been, especially in the years when I was working for her. I reach the final paragraph, which reads:
The oracle at Catwood Pond does not charge for his counsel, nor does he offer virtual readings. So an audience with him will likely require a long journey—nay, a pilgrimage. But if you are ready to unlock your best life, I can confirm the journey is well worth it. After I visited the oracle, nothing was ever the same.?
I thank Gemma for the flattering article and tell her they can just link to my email address. For a moment, I worry that this could escalate, but I figure our remote location should be deterrent enough. Yes, people want guidance, but most don’t want it badly enough to drive hours to a stranger’s house in the middle of nowhere. They can make do with the advice they find during their middle-of-the-night Instagram scrolling.
With that, I close my laptop for the night and take a final look into my father’s room. His snores are raspy and rhythmic, and there is a cat-sized lump under the covers at the foot of the bed. Dominic can seemingly spend the entire night without fresh air, if it means being this cozy.
I climb the stairs and enter the large bedroom that is now mine. From my window, I have a direct view of the boathouse. In the moonlight, its angled roof resembles the prow of a lonely ship navigating a frozen sea. But I know that, soon enough, the thaw will come, as it always does.
Chapter 31
By the next evening, I have thirty-seven inquiries from people all over the country who want to see the oracle. There is also an email from Inez—via Gemma—confirming that her essay is already the most-viewed article of the month on the magazine’s website. Thanks to her 900,000 social media followers, Gemma helped drive much of that interest, but now the article has officially gone viral.
The volume is already overwhelming—there is no way we can receive thirty-seven supplicants anytime soon. I email Gemma in a panic, but all she writes back is,Congrats! So happy for you! I’m sure you’ll figure it out! This is huge!
When I read the article aloud to my father, he laughs nearly all the way through.
“I’m glad you’re amused!” I begin to laugh with him. “But what do we do now?”
“Let them come.”
I appreciate his openness, but I know he can’t grasp the level of interest that is already starting to bubble our way. I need advice, and while Nina is usually my go-to in that department, I can’t share this specific conundrum with her. Carl and Paula are my next best option, and they both agree to come by this weekend to help me strategize.
“Just breathe,” says Paula, picking up on my stress as we sit around the dining-room table. I’ve set up the equivalent of a war room, withprintouts of the article and the now eighty-nine inquiry emails. Paula and Carl leaf through them.
“Well, this woman has a terminal illness, so you should fit her in quick,” says Paula. “But most of these are from people who are wondering whether to break up with their partners or quit their jobs. You can handle those at your leisure.”
“This is already out of control,” I say. “We can’t take responsibility for all these people’s dilemmas. What if my dad has an off day? What if he loses interest?”
“Well, aren’t the prophecies supposed to be kind of vague and open-ended?” asks Carl. “Doesn’t a good oracle show you what you already know?”
