Page 211 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
Ida inspected the bird. “I suspect you know what crows symbolize.”
Libby eyed the creature, that again, seemed to be watching her. “Many yogis and mystics will tell you crows symbolize the past, present, and future.”
Ida nodded. “Notice how its feathers change in the light. A crow’s plumage is iridescent. They reflect the colors of their environment. See how this one has taken on a blue-violet hue.”
Blue and violet.
She and Raz had once shared those shades.
How she longed to feel his lips on hers. She could almost taste the colors, juicy and sweet, as she disappeared into their auras.
Stop.
She pushed the thoughts aside and concentrated on the bird. “A crow pooped on me after you gave me the aquamarine stone,” she said, not exactly sure why she’d shared that nugget of information.
Or perhaps there was a reason.
She studied the bird.
It felt like this crow was the same crow that soiled her yoga wrap.
She was totally getting that vibe from the winged creature.
It couldn’t be, could it?
She was no crow expert, but there had to be thousands, if not millions, of the birds circling the city.
Ida pointed to the creature, still hanging out on a branch nearby. “You took a shit on her? My goodness,” the woman added, then burst into a rolling belly laugh.
Was Ida okay? There was communing with nature, and then there was losing your damn mind.
“Were you doing anything else in that bush besides meditating, Ida?”
Like psychedelics or popping pot gummiesby the handful?
The woman was Hash Pants’s great aunt. There was no telling what a dude with that nickname could get his hands on.
“I was, actually. I was thinking of you, Libby,” she answered, rosy-cheeked from laughter.
“Because you have something for me? That’s what your nephew said when he texted.”
Ida’s features grew solemn as the yogi looked her up and down, then touched a strand of her dark hair. “It’s uncanny to see you in the light after all this time,” the woman said, the lines around her eyes deepening.
What was uncanny?
Libby froze as Ida and the crow zeroed in on her as if they were memorizing her every freckle and each strand of her raven-colored hair.
She understood a yogi’s contemplative nature. She was a yogi herself. This encounter, however, tapped into a part of her, a part deep within her psyche.
Could Ida and this bird see into her soul?
It certainly seemed like it.
“Come with me,” Ida said as the crow took off and landed on the ground near one of the rec center’s large floor-to-ceiling windows. “What I have for you is in my bag back in the studio.”
She followed a step behind Ida, observing the community center’s entryway. “Do you teach classes here?”
“Yes, I’ve been gone for a while, but I’m starting up again.”
