Monday afternoon isn’t busy, and we find a parking spot on Main Street. Downtown is decorated for the holiday. An artist has painted sprays of white holly leaves and delicate red berries in storefront windows. The trees’ lights glow under snow frosting. Wreaths hang around the streetlights. The window of Crazy Wisdom announces “Material Treasures and Ethereal Pleasures.” The aroma of incense and perfumed candles surrounds the books and jewelry and assorted small objects. Since Luke’s death, Charlene comes here seeking something: hope of eternity, the limitless suggestions of gods, the promise of salvation through Buddhism, Christianity, crystals, paganism, kabbalah, I Ching.

She picks up a statuette of Genesh, his trunk waving with his arms, and then Iemanja, the African mermaid goddess. A rack spins with charms of runes, Chinese birth years, zodiacs, animal spirits.

She opens a book and reads, her head tilted to one side. “‘Death is the passing of life. And life is the stringing together of so many little passages.’ Whaddya think?”

“Life is more.”

She squints her eyes. “Sometimes pebbles of joy.” Shuts the book. “See, I still remember happiness is possible.”

She moves to the incense, picks up one called rain, and smells it. “At first, I meditated to find Luke. As though he’d reach out to me and implant a message and I’d have him again.” Returning the incense to its place, she sniffs a pine-scented candle. “Now I meditate to find peace.” She turns toward me. “To escape this world, perhaps, or forget myself. Or just to exist in the endless now without a past or future.” She spins away and walks to another section, grabs a book with a picture of the moon on it, opens it, and says, “Hey, Marnie.”

I’m looking at a box of beautifully drawn animal-spirit cards.

“Listen to this one. ‘The life of sensation is the life of greed; it requires more and more. The life of spirit requires less and less; time is ample and its passage sweet.’” She closes the book and repeats, “Time is ample and its passage sweet.”

“It doesn’t warn that the life of the spirit is difficult. So much to ignore and so much focus and concentration.”

“It’s all difficult.” Charlene’s shoulders slump as she wedges the book back in its place.

“Maybe it’s an issue of balance: spirit, greed, love, and fun.” I stop a minute and then add, “And don’t forget to exercise regularly and floss your teeth.”

She laughs.

I find a deck of cards displaying sexual positions and flip through them, wondering if there’re any Jim and I haven’t done. Charlene peers over my shoulder at a drawing of the woman’s legs clamped around the man’s back, his hands cupping her ass to hold her up. I shake my head. “Lord. I haven’t done that since Stephen.”

Charlene laughs. “Me, either.”

I widen my eyes.