Page 110 of The Slug Crystal
"Ask her if she's sure," I manage, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. "Maybe it's temporary. Maybe she's coming back."
Marco speaks to the woman again, his scholarly tone gentle but persistent. She shakes her head, speaking at length while making more of those expressive hand gestures. Her gaze keeps returning to Alex, her expression growing increasingly troubled.
"Sarah sold her apartment, closed her Italian business accounts," Marco translates slowly. "The shopkeeper says shespoke of 'finding her true calling' in Bali. Something about a spiritual center where she could develop her gifts without Western constraints."
I grip the edge of the counter, the polished wood cool beneath my trembling fingers. "Did she leave contact information? An address? Anything?"
More rapid Italian, more head shaking.
"No fixed address," Marco says. "Just mentioned a spiritual retreat near Ubud."
I look down at Alex's terrarium, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to let fall. The blue snail has retreated into his shell completely, as if sensing the crushing weight of this news. Almost a month of this and I’m already breaking. How can this continue?
"Bali," Ben repeats, sounding stunned. "That's like... the other side of the planet."
"Approximately 12,000 kilometers from Milan," Marco supplies automatically, then winces as he realizes this isn't helpful.
Luca moves closer to the counter, speaking to the woman in his smooth Italian. Unlike Marco's scholarly precision, Luca's approach is all charm and gentle coaxing. The shopkeeper responds warmly to him, her hands fluttering as she speaks.
"She says Sarah mentioned teaching crystal healing at a place called 'The Spiritual Lotus' near Ubud," Luca translates. "No phone number, but she thinks they have a website we can look at."
A fragile thread of hope reappears, thin but present. I cling to it desperately, gathering Alex's terrarium back into my arms. The blue snail remains hidden in his shell, a tiny universe of retreat I suddenly envy with painful intensity.
"Thank you," I tell the shopkeeper, waiting for Marco to translate. "This helps more than you know."
The woman comes around the counter, her eyes soft withcompassion. She takes my free hand between both of hers, speaking in a gentle tone that requires no translation to understand. Then she reaches into her apron pocket and produces a small candle, pressing it into my palm. The wax is deep blue. It’s almost exactly the color of Alex's shell.
"For protection on your journey," Marco translates as she speaks. "And to light your way home."
I clutch the candle, overwhelmed by this small kindness from a stranger. The shopkeeper gives my hand one final squeeze before stepping back, her eyes lingering on Alex's terrarium with a mixture of wonder and sorrow.
As we file out of the shop, the little bell chiming our departure, I feel the weight of our new reality settling over us all. Bali. A spiritual retreat with no fixed address. A journey that would take us halfway around the world with no guarantee of success.
The bright Milanese sunshine feels like a mockery after the dim, scented sanctuary of the candle shop. I squint against it, holding Alex's terrarium closer as if I could somehow protect him from this latest setback. The blue candle weighs heavily in my pocket, a talisman of both hope and despair.
Tuesday, 10:47AM. The ride back to the villa feels endless, silence hanging between us like something physical we could touch if we dared. I stare out the window, watching Milan's urban sprawl give way to the rolling Tuscan countryside. The blue candle from the shopkeeper presses against my thigh through my pocket, its small weight somehow more substantial than it should be. In my lap, Alex's terrarium sits steady despite the car's movement, the blue snail still withdrawn completely into his shell.
No one speaks. The radio stays off, the only sounds are the hum of tires against asphalt and the occasional sigh. Theycome in waves from Ben, from Marco, and from me. Luca seems uncharacteristically focused on his phone. Jake sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch, but he doesn't reach to comfort me as he normally would.
Trees line the highway like sentinels guarding the way back to a place that suddenly feels less like a sanctuary and more like a dead end. The Italian sun beats down relentlessly, turning the inside of the car into a greenhouse despite the air conditioning. Or maybe that's just the heat of my anxiety, burning through my skin from the inside out.
My fingers tap restlessly against the glass of Alex's terrarium, a nervous rhythm that matches the racing of my thoughts. Can we afford to go to Bali? Can we take more time off work? Even if we can, how would we find Sarah at a spiritual retreat? Would she even help us if we found her? What if she's moved again by the time we get there? What if Alex is stuck this way forever? What if, what if, what if...
"We could stop for gelato," Ben suggests finally, his voice breaking the silence like a stone through ice. "I know you said you didn’t want any earlier, but there’s a place right by the villa that looks good."
No one responds. His attempt at normalcy falls flat, the silence swallowing his words whole.
"I was thinking about Bali," Marco says a few minutes later, his scholarly tone forced and too bright. "Fascinating cultural history. The island has a unique form of Hinduism influenced by local animistic beliefs. Their temples?—"
"Not now, Marco," Jake interrupts gently.
"Sorry," Marco murmurs, adjusting his glasses. "Just trying to..." He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't need to. We all know he's trying to do the same thing we all are. We are trying to pretend this is manageable, that we haven't hit a wall so high and wide it seems insurmountable.
Luca clears his throat, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the rearview mirror. "I could fly us there," he says, though hisvoice lacks its usual confident edge. "To Bali. My jet can make it with one refueling stop, maybe in Dubai or Singapore."
"That's generous," Jake says, "but even if we get there, finding her sounds like looking for a needle in a haystack."
"A blue needle," Ben adds, "in a very spiritual haystack."
