The Transformation Of Amy Lunaro: Chapter Twenty Eight. {fiction}

Louis and Alba ran the center.

Louis, a sturdy bald man in a green fisherman’s sweater and paint-splattered khakis, was manning the check-in desk when Amy walked in with the wolf dog at her heels.

Alba was out in the pasture feeding the animals.

Louis was a recovered coke addict who used to run the meat-packing district, and by that he meant he supplied all the coke to the clubs, half of which he owned before going broke, losing everything, and hitting rock bottom. He met Alba when Healing Moon Bay was just her small horse therapy farm. He had come after rehab and fell in love and never left.

“Alba healed me,” he said.

“You’re lucky,” Amy said.

“Don’t think luck had anything to do with it,” Louis shook his head.

“This place just has a way of doing that,” he said.

“It’s its dharma.”

“Doing what?” Amy asked.

“Matchmakin’. People who are drawn here tend to be drawn to each other.”

“Well,” Amy straightened her back and lifted her head, looking at Louis, “those days are behind me. I’m not looking for that anymore.”

Louis sized her up. “That’s probably a good temporary plan, but certainly not a long-term one,” he said.

Amy felt warm pressure on her feet. She looked down to see that the dog had made a pillow of her moccasins.

She reached down to stroke its head, while asking Louis, “Why not? Why do people say that to me, when love has caused me so much trouble?”

“Maybe it caused the Old You so much trouble, but the more we heal, the more we attract healed people. Just like the more wounded you are, the more you attract the wounded type.”

Amy thought about that. It made sense. She nodded.

“I can see that,” she said. She stood back up and readjusted her pony tail.

“But when are we healed?” she asked.

“When we’re happy,” he said, “when we’re of no harm to ourselves or others.”

“I like that,” she said, “I’m just here to work and heal.”

“And we are happy to help you do both,” said Louis. He handed her a gold key affixed to small golden horse.

“You’re Cabin Twelve. Still early in the season, so you got it all to yourself.”

“Thanks,” Amy said, taking the key chain. Then the dog stood back up on all fours and downward dogged. It stretched its neck and front paws out and pushed its rump up, its tail like a fur flag sticking straight in the air. She smiled, the animal reminded her of the mischievous wolf from Sword in the Stone.

Then it sat back on its hind legs and watched Amy and waited, looking to her for her next move.

“Well, looks like you’re taking Sadie too,” Louis laughed.

Amy looked back into Sadie’s deep brown eyes.

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” she said.

“Well, I think Sadie’s always wanted you. She’s never taken such a liking,” he laughed. “They choose us.”

“Where’d you find her?” Amy asked.

“Just out there on the highway,” he said, pointing out toward the road, “someone must have just dumped her off.”

Amy nodded in empathy. “Sounds familiar,” she said.

She rubbed behind the dog’s ears. “I know your pain, girl.”

“She was a hungry, scared little thing,” said Louis, “she’s done some real good healing, haven’t you, Sade?” Sadie looked up at Louis knowingly.

“She hears and knows all,” said Louis, “God is Dog and Dog is God.“

Amy tilted her head toward the door. “I’ll go get my bags,” she said.

“Need any help?” he asked.

“No,” Amy shook her head, “I can do it myself.” After having been so weakly dependent on Jimmy, then a winter of mummified dependence on Leanne, Amy relished doing everything herself.

“Alright,” Louis said, “might want to take a hot bath and get a fire going, this rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up any time soon. We won’t need you till the morning.”

She turned to leave, with Sadie clicking her nails on the wood alongside her.

Louis cleared his throat. “The thing about Love,” he said to her back, “is that when you stop looking for it, that’s when it comes looking for you.”

Amy turned to smile. “You’re a wise man,” she said, “I like those.”

Then she pressed open the door, and looked out at the deluge falling in thick sheets. The man’s hammer continued to bang through the rain. She looked back once more at Louis.



“What’s his name? The man with the hammer.”

Louis didn’t look up, but chuckled as he shuffled a stack of paperwork.

“I’ll give you a hint,” he said, “it rhymes with God.”

This is an ongoing series from a forthcoming fiction novel by Sarah Durham Wilson of DOITGIRL.
Tune in weekly for the next chapter in ‘The Transformation of Amy Lunaro’.


Sarah Durham Wilson
Sarah Durham Wilson is a woman in the world who writes about being a woman in the world. She teaches workshops, courses, and retreats on awakening to one’s inner Divine Feminine nature. You can find her on Facebook and her blog.
Sarah Durham Wilson
Sarah Durham Wilson