“All we need,” he said, patting the seat next to him. “...Is love.”
I had to laugh, though it was an absurd joke.
But the absurdity of the whole situation––hiding from a ghost, sitting at the piano in the middle of the night, and having a conversation with a man who, up until now, hadn't said more than ten words to me––made the whole thing hysterical.
My laugh turned into a chortle and before I knew it, I was doubled over the piano with tears streaming down my eyes repeating, “...All you need is love.”
“I’d like to think I was that funny,” he said, when I had finally calmed down. “But I think you are suffering from a bit of exhaustion. You should probably go to bed.”
I shook my head no. That thing was probably still up there, waiting for me. For all I knew, it was in my bed, fluffing the pillows.
“I’m fine here, for now.” I stretched my fingers to take a turn at the piano. It had been years since I had played. I had never fooled myself into thinking I was any good, but it didn’t matter. It always felt good. Like very loud therapy.
I serenaded him with a crude version of a Steve Miller Band classic, ‘Come On and Dance.’ It was one of my mother’s favorites and she had me play it at all our birthday parties. I couldn’t remember all the notes but I think I hit most of them.
“Not bad,” he said. “Do you know any others?”
“Um...see if you can guess what this one is.” I played him another.
Admittedly, I totally screwed up the chorus but I think I nailed the bridge.
He scratched his head and I could see his brain working.
“Well?” I said, smiling semi-victoriously. It was a win but only because I couldn't play it right. Still, I’d take it. “Give up?”
At last, a smile of recognition crossed his face. “‘Your Song!’ By the great Elton John. Enjoying a mild resurrection now, thanks to the movie, Moulin Rouge.”
“Moulin what?”
Paul shook his head dismissively and began playing ‘Your Song’ from memory, much better than I had done. I watched for a minute, then joined in, his fingers moving gracefully along the keys while mine hunted and pecked for the right notes. When we hit the chorus we sang the words together. I remembered those too, surprisingly, all about how it is the listener’s song, how wonderful life is, how the song’s ending means they’re now in the world. I’d never really thought about the words before, but they struck me as sort of nice.
When we finished, I squealed. This was the most fun I’d had in a long time.
“You’re a surprising woman, Maggie Mae.” He leaned back and folded his hands behind his head and stretched out his legs beneath the piano. “I’m surprised you know all these oldies. A lot of young people don’t.”
“You make it sound like you are a hundred years old,” I said. “And my mother loved the 70’s. Said they stopped making decent music once video came out. Maybe she was right.”
“Well, the 70’s was the decade of the story-telling artists. It’s too bad that so many songs nowadays rely on images, rather than lyrics. Where are the Claptons and Joels of this generation?” Paul sighed, shaking his head, then lowered his voice. “And of course I’m not a hundred,” he continued, a shadow falling across his face. “I just feel like it sometimes. My mom says I’m a bit of an old soul.” He shrugged his shoulders then let it go. “Anyway, I wouldn’t quit your day job, but that was pretty darn good.”
“What day job?” I asked, wiping the sweat off my forehead. “Maybe we should tackle The Eagles now? How about a little ‘Desperado’?”
“How are you at singing harmony?” he asked.
I was about to answer him when a loud bump on the staircase caught my attention. We turned our heads to see Eve descending the stairs. Normally, Eve moved as stealthily as a cat.
She must have wanted to be heard.
“Looks like I’m missing the party,” she said, her lips stretching across her face. She moved towards us, her hips swaying from side to side. Eve didn’t walk, she slithered, and it was hypnotic...at least for me.
Paul was too busy scouring the old songbook on the piano to notice.
“I thought I heard something about The Eagles,” she said, leaning seductively against the piano, offering a full view down her loose T-shirt. “Sounds like you two could use a little backup.”
“Dammit,” Paul said. “No Eagles in this Popular Party Tunes songbook. Let’s try something else.” He turned the pages and pointed to ‘Luck Be a Lady Tonight,’ a song I didn’t know. I listened while he played it and Eve crooned along with him, flopping down on his lap and opening her arms wide on the final line.
When it was over, she stood and curtsied, and Paul clapped appropriately before turning back to me. “I can teach you that one. You will pick it up in no time.”
Eve stood behind him, arms crossed, waiting for my response.
I shrugged like I didn’t care if I learned it or not.
“Well, I better head to bed,” Paul said. “I may be taking off for Seattle in the morning and I don’t want to stay up too late. Good night, ladies.”
“In the morning?” I asked, alarmed.
I was still hoping to hitch a ride with him, but I couldn’t leave just yet. There was Merry, and June Bug and Mother and a dozen other things I needed to get closure on, first. I had to stall him for a few days. “You aren’t ready to go, are you? We need you.”
“You do?” Paul and Eve asked simultaneously.
The wheels in my brain were turning. I had to think fast. “Yes. I mean the town needs you. To get The Haunted Dark Root Festival up and running. We could use someone like you to help with all sorts of things, including music.”
“I thought you weren’t interested in that,” Eve said, one eyebrow arched.
“Oh, well, you know...if its important to the community its important to me.”
“Since when?”
“Since I got back and saw what’s happened to Dark Root.” I spread my hands.
Eve lifted her chin and tilted her head to the side, trying to decide whether or not she believed me. She looked towards Paul who was hunched over the piano in thought. Whether she believed me or not, she decided to use it to her advantage.
“Maggie’s right, we do need you,” she cooed, placing a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Maybe you could hang for a few days? Maybe a week. Aunt Dora says you can sleep in the attic for as long as you like. Keeps the rats from wandering down here.” She smiled playfully.
Paul scratched his chin. “I don’t know. I already told you, small town festivals aren’t my thing.” He lifted his hands overhead to stretch and I noticed the muscles in his abdomen as his shirt came up. I turned quickly before either of them caught me staring.
“Oh, please. Just for a week or two? It could be fun. Dark Root needs you.” Eve beamed at him with big, innocent, doe eyes. “I need you.”
“What else is new?” he laughed. He lowered his eyes and played the first few notes of ‘Your Song’ on the piano. “What about you, Maggie? Do you need me?”
My heart raced a little and I stammered, unable to answer.
“Well?” Eve smirked. I felt like a mouse, being watched by a cat with very sharp claws. “Do you need him, Maggie?”
“I, uh...”
“Of course she does,” my sister answered for me. “We all do. Please stay, Paul. Do it for Dark Root.”
Paul wiped his hands on his jeans and thought for a moment. “I guess staying a few more days wouldn’t hurt anything. It’s not like I have anything to go back to.” His eyes found me. “Or anyone.” With that, he turned and made his way up the staircase, leaving Eve and I staring after him. “Good night, ladies. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” He waved his hand in the air.
When he was gone, I felt the energy around Eve turn as hot as fire poker.
“He’s not into redheads,” Eve said, flipping her hair as she ascended the stairs after him. “If he showed any interest at all, it was onl
y to get me jealous.”
“Who said I cared?”
“We all want what we can’t have, Maggie. And you can’t have him.”
Eve turned and her perfect bottom swayed confidently behind her.
Twelve: Born to Run
“I’m glad you decided to stay,” Shane said, one hand resting easily on the steering wheel, the other arm hanging out his window. Small raindrops splattered across the windshield and he flipped the wipers on periodically to clear them away.
I checked the sky, noticing the clouds that were gathering.
Some things may have changed while I was gone but the weather remained a constant––overcast and dreary, with a chance of gloom.
“I’m not staying for long.” I fiddled with my seatbelt, releasing it from its snap. It was pressing against my belly and I needed to pee.
Shane gave me a quick glance, but said nothing.
We didn’t have a police station in Dark Root; we barely had a fire department. There was not much chance of getting pulled over for a seat belt infraction.
“I appreciate your help in getting me the ticket,” I continued.
We had spent the morning on the internet and Shane showed me how to purchase a bus pass that would take me from anywhere in the country to anywhere in the country for less than three hundred bucks. I hated parting with the money, not sure how I would get more, but a ticket meant freedom. And choice. I wasn’t stuck here, though I still hoped to make the first leg of my journey with Paul to Seattle, then figure out the rest later.
“You only have five weeks to use it,” he said.
He had told me this a dozen times already. The ticket was good only until November first. That was more than enough time for me to come up with an escape plan.
“I could use a hand around the cafe until you decide to leave,” he continued, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “If you are interested in making a few bucks.”
“Doing what, pray tell?”
“Waiting tables and cleaning toilets.”
“I can’t think of anything more horrible.”
“Suit yourself, but you’re going to want a little cash for your trip, I presume.”
“Can’t you just pay me for other things?” I batted my eyelashes playfully.
“I can’t afford you,” he said, giving me a sideways grin. “I’m already paying Eve.”
I punched him in the arm and threatened to tell her. He said he was kidding and I forgave him, though a small part of me was upset by his remark, and not because he had basically called my sister a member of the world’s oldest profession.
A song came on the radio, something about a honky-tonk princess in pink cowboy boots. Shane turned up the volume. He tapped his index fingers against the steering wheel and sang along, missing a few words and making up others. The wind caught his hair, shoving it back away from his face, and he looked very much like the goofy kid I used to make fun of.
He caught me looking and laughed.
“I need a shave,” he said, rubbing his chin with his free hand. “I’ve been letting myself go the last few months. Hardly even work out anymore.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Dark Root is hardly known for its beautiful people.” It wasn’t until I left town that I realized round and lumpy wasn’t the standard of beauty. I looked down at my belly––which was protruding even more thanks to Aunt Dora’s homemade muffins––and sucked it in self-consciously.
He must have noticed.
“Works both ways,” he said, turning onto the dirt road that would take me to Sister House.
Merry had phoned earlier and asked if I could help her out. Mother was sleeping, she assured me, knocked out on drugs that the nurse had given her, and the cats had all been corralled. I didn’t want to go, but knowing that I now possessed the bus pass and would have Merry to myself for a few hours made it tolerable.
“I don’t have to be thin for Dark Root,” I answered him. “But if I want to fit in, in Seattle, I better hit the gym.”
“Seattle? What’s in Seattle?” Shane rolled up his window. The drops had become globs making visibility difficult, even though the wipers were running at full speed. He slowed his pace as we sloshed through puddles and piles and bumps.
“I just always wanted to go to Seattle,” I responded, turning down the radio. “Birthplace of grunge.”
“Uh-huh.” The tone of his voice let me know he didn’t believe me. “You were grunge way before it was popular. You don’t need to go to Seattle for that.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Take it how you like it.”
I felt the need to explain. “Dark Root is like the Roach Motel, Shane. You check in and you don’t check out. If I don’t get away, and soon, I will be trapped here forever. Like...” I looked at him and stopped.
“Yes? Go on. Trapped like what?”
“Like my mother.”
“I see. And has it ever occurred to you that people like your mother choose to stay here. That they aren’t trapped at all?”
“Might as well be.” I slumped against the passenger door. I didn’t like the way this conversation had turned.
“So, will you stay in Seattle? Is that where you will make your new home?”
I shrugged. It might be my first stop. It might be my only stop. It wasn’t like I had somewhere else to go. Unless...
Woodhaven.
I had dreamed of it the night after playing the piano with Paul, in those wee hours before dawn. In my dream I was with Michael. We were young again, kissing, laughing, hanging out. I recalled his chest, his arms, his legs, and his breath on my cheek. True, he eventually morphed into Paul, but it started out as Michael. I woke that morning in a sweat.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing up the image of Michael and Leah in her bedroom together. It worked. I was back to hating him again.
Still...maybe he had learned?
Maybe he felt that same aching separation that I felt and realized what a stupid fucking jerk he had been. Maybe he was remorseful and had changed. People changed. That’s what Oprah and Dr. Phil said. My heart harbored hope. The rest of me did not. I squelched the thought as Shane made a sudden swerve to avoid an especially deep pit in the road.
“No one wants you to leave,” he said softly.
“No one’s asking me to stay either,” I replied.
Neither Eve nor Merry had expressed any interest in my continued presence these last few days. In fact, Eve watched me so intently, especially when I was in the company of Paul, that I was sure she would have bought me the ticket herself if she thought it would get rid of me sooner. And Merry had been so busy at Sister House, caring for Mother, that she hardly noticed I existed.
“I would like you to stay.” Shane turned his head to look at me, his gaze making me uncomfortable. I turned the radio volume back up, pretending to listen to a country song I had never heard. “...Just keep that in mind.”
We pulled into the driveway of Sister House. June Bug sat on the front porch swing, oblivious to our presence as she inspected something in her cupped hands.
Shane unbuckled and turned towards me, switching off the radio. “I know you probably think I’ve been a bit insensitive. I haven’t asked you how you’ve been. That night at the bar must have scared the hell out of you. I just didn’t know what to say. Back where I’m from, a man would never do anything like that. We are raised to respect women.”
I inhaled, eager to change the subject, but he raised a hand to stop me.
“I wish I had been there sooner to stop those assholes!” He banged a fist against the dashboard and the cab of the truck shook.
It startled me, the depth of his anger. He didn’t seem like the kind that got angry easily, but something told me when he did, someone had better watch out.
“I am grateful for what you did.” I stopped, then decided to ask him the question that had come into my head a dozen times since the assault. “How did you manage to pull bot
h of them off me?”
Shane shrugged, a smile lighting his face. “Adrenaline, I guess.”
“Well, it would have been much worse if you hadn’t...” I didn’t need to finish. We both knew what would have happened. I patted him on the knee. “You’re a good egg,” I teased.
He gave me a crooked smile and started the engine back up.
“And now back to our regularly scheduled program,” I said, nodding to the white Victorian home that loomed before us. A shutter, hanging on one hinge, smacked against the side of the house as the wind caught it. June Bug jumped but continued her studies.
“I’m sorry you have to go through this.” Shane scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve been reading about dementia. It’s a sad, sad thing and no family deserves this. The best thing you can do is to be yourself and try to keep some emotional distance.”
“You read a lot,” I said, opening the passenger door.
One of my feet fell into a deep puddle and I immediately withdrew it, searching the ground for a safe spot. I found a small mound a few inches from the truck and stepped onto it.
“I guess I do read quite a bit,” Shane responded. “A habit I learned from Uncle Joe. Every summer when I’d come to visit he’d hand me a pile of books with a warning that if I didn’t finish them by the end of August, I wasn’t allowed back the next year. And he had ways of making sure I read them. I never had to do a book report in school as thoroughly as the ones Uncle Joe put me through.”
Shane’s face relaxed at the memory and I smiled. Uncle Joe had the largest private collection of books I had ever seen. Ruth Anne had dragged me to his house on many occasions just to peruse his library.
“I better run,” Shane said. “Dip Stix opens for dinner in two hours and I’ve got a hot stove to slave over. Be safe.”
He nodded and drove away.
I waited until he had completely disappeared before I turned towards Sister House. The shutter continued to flap against the wall, the window reminding me of a one-winged bat. I reached inside my skirt pocket, running my fingers over the ridge of my bus ticket. I was going to tell Merry today, when the time was right.
The Witches of Dark Root Page 15
