by Ann Tatlock
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Billy stepped through the kitchen to the break room at the back of the restaurant. “Dad?”
“Huh!”
Billy bit back a laugh when his dad jumped. “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“That’s all right, Billy.”
“What are you doing?”
“Just reading the paper.”
“It looked like you were asleep.”
“Oh. Well, I might have dozed off. What time is it?”
“That’s what I came to tell you. Uncle Owen says it’s time for you to go back to work.”
When his father looked up quickly at the clock, Billy thought he heard him swear under his breath.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” Billy said, “there’s hardly anybody out there eating right now. I checked your tables. You’re okay for now.”
His father nodded, folded up the paper. “Thanks, Billy.”
“You tired, Dad?”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
“You need more sleep.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
Billy fidgeted. Needing a moment to think, he started tying knots into the strings of his apron. “Something bothering you, Dad?” he asked.
His father gave him a weary smile. “No. Nothing, really.”
“You’re looking in the paper for another job, aren’t you?”
“Well, I don’t really expect to find anything right now. But someday I’ll want to move on.”
“Listen, Dad, if it’s money, I’ll work more here. I’ll give you half my paycheck.”
Dad shook his head. “I appreciate that, son. More than I can say. But I don’t want you to do that.”
“Well, okay. If you change your mind, let me know.”
His father tried to smile again, then pushed the chair back from the table and stood.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Billy?”
Billy looked at his apron strings, then worked at untying the knots. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” he asked. “Something wrong?”
“No, I—”
“I’m a grown-up now, Dad. I’m not a kid. I want to help.”
His father looked at him a moment, then came and put a hand on his shoulder. “The best thing you can do for me is just go on being who you are.”
“But, Dad,” Billy protested, “that isn’t much.”
“No, Billy,” Dad said. “It’s everything. I’m proud of you, son.”
Billy smiled. “I’m proud of you too, Dad.”
His father squeezed his shoulder, glanced at the clock again, walked off toward the kitchen.
Billy hoped he had made his father feel better. But something about the look on his face when he turned away left Billy wondering.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
“I don’t get it, Lena,” Rebekah said. “What’s with you, anyway? I haven’t seen you this mad since Jason Holloway called you a Satan worshiper over the school’s PA system.”
Lena scowled even as her jaw worked and her cheeks bulged with popcorn. The two girls sat on a padded bench in the theater lobby, waiting for David and Jim to meet them for the Saturday afternoon matinee.
“I mean, listen,” Rebekah went on, “the guys are actually spending some money on us, like this is a real date or something. It’s a red-letter day. You should be happy.”
Huffing loudly, Lena said, “It’s not our guys I’m mad at. At least not today.”
“So, what? I mean, I was kind of looking forward to this afternoon, you know, and here you’re acting like—”
“Listen, Beka, this is serious.”
“Well, it might help if you tell me what it is.”
Lena’s face grew pinched as her eyes narrowed. “It’s that guy.”
“What guy?”
“The guy my mom’s seeing.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I haven’t met him.”
“You haven’t?”
Lena shook her head. She chewed on another handful of popcorn, took a long drink of her Diet Mountain Dew.
“Has your mom told you anything about him?”
“She hasn’t said a word.”
“She hasn’t told you she’s seeing someone?”
“I asked her flat out, and she denied it.”
“Why would she do that?”
“He’s probably married.”
“Oh, good grief, Lena. He probably isn’t even there. I mean, you haven’t seen him, and your mom says she’s not seeing anyone, so why are you so convinced she is?”
“Because she’s acting like a crazed teenybopper, the way she always acts when she’s seeing someone.”
“Maybe she’s just happy.”
“What about?”
“Well, I don’t know. Whatever grown-ups get happy about.”
“She’s only happy when there’s a man in her life.”
With a long sigh Rebekah relented. “Okay, so what if there is? Is that so bad?”
“I don’t like it.”
“You know, sometimes I think you’re really warped. I mean, who wouldn’t want her own mother to be happy?”
Lena looked directly at Rebekah. “He’s just using her like all the other men.”
With a lift of her brows, Rebekah countered, “Well, I don’t know how you can say that when you haven’t even met him.”
“That’s the thing, Beka. Don’t you get it? She doesn’t bring him home and introduce him to me. She sneaks around behind my back.”
Rebekah laughed out loud at that. “You sound like you’re the mother and she’s the daughter. She is an adult, you know. She can do what she wants.”
Her friend shook her head sharply. “She doesn’t know how to take care of herself. She lets herself be used.”
“I don’t know, Lena. I mean, really, I think it just comes down to you wanting your mom all to yourself.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes it is. Every time she dates someone, you get mad.”
“I wouldn’t get mad if she dated someone decent.”
“And how do you know this guy—if he’s really there—isn’t decent?”
“I just know, is all. And I’ve got to do something about it.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Get rid of him. The way I got rid of the others.”
“How?”
Lena paused at that, then turned fully to Rebekah. “Cast a spell with me, Beka,” she pleaded.
“You’re crazy.”
“Come on. It’s—”
“Listen, ‘Do no harm,’ remember?”
“I’m not doing any harm. I’m taking care of my mother.”
“And don’t forget the Rule of Three. Whatever energy you throw out comes back at you times three.”
“You don’t have to quote the rules to me, Beka. I’m the one who taught you everything you know.”
“Yeah, and maybe you still have some learning to do yourself. Aunt Jo said she doesn’t want you casting any spells until you’re ready.”
“I’m more ready than she thinks. I know what I’m doing. So are you with me or not?”
Rebekah hesitated. She bided her time by gazing across the theater lobby at the ticket window. No sign of the guys. Her jaw tightened in annoyance.
She was still trying to think of an answer when Lena said quietly, “You know, Beka, I thought you were my friend.”
Turning back angrily, Rebekah said, “Listen, Lena, don’t pull that one on me. Just because I don’t want to throw some sort of hex on this guy doesn’t mean I’m not your friend.”
“I’m not throwing a hex on anybody. You’re looking at it all wrong. I just want to put a wall of protection around my mom, to keep the wrong people away. That’s all. Nothing bad.”
“Well, don’t you think you ought to at least meet this guy first? I mean, who knows? You might like him.”
“I do
n’t need to meet him to know I don’t like him.”
“Now that’s just about the dumbest thing I ever heard. Honest, Lena, sometimes I think you’ve got a screw loose somewhere.”
“Why? Because I want to take care of my mom?”
“No. Because you think she needs taking care of.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
Rebekah shrugged. “I know her well enough to think she’s not crazy like you are.”
“Thanks a lot, Beka.”
“Hey, look. There’s the guys! It’s about time they got here.” Rebekah waved, trying to catch David’s attention. He was pulling dollar bills out of his wallet and didn’t notice. She started to rise, but Lena grabbed her elbow and pulled her back down.
“Listen, Beka, help me, won’t you?”
Rebekah wiggled her elbow out of her friend’s grip. “All right, all right, whatever. Though I really don’t think your mother needs your help.”
Lena’s whole body relaxed as she smiled. “Thanks, Beka. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
“Whatever,” Rebekah answered. She tried to stand up again, and this time succeeded. “Come on, let’s meet the guys.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The movie—a comedy—and supper at a nearby bistro put Lena in a better mood, and afterward Rebekah stayed the night with her, half hoping that by morning she’d have forgotten about the whole spell thing. Thoughts of Jessica Faulkner still bothered her, and Rebekah wasn’t sure how much deeper she wanted to go with the Craft.
Lena’s good mood didn’t last the night, though, and she woke up with the words “Let’s do it” on her lips.
Rebekah knew exactly what she meant. She thought briefly of arguing but knew it was useless. With a tired shrug of her shoulders and the suggestion, “Let’s at least eat breakfast first,” she gave in.
Now the two girls sat cross-legged on the floor while Lena arranged candles, herbs, holy water, and crystals on the cedar chest she used as an altar. It sat right out in the middle of her room, not in the closet like Rebekah’s altar at home. Lena’s mother knew what it was, of course. After all, Aunt Jo was her mother’s sister. Lena’s mother didn’t practice the Craft herself but didn’t care if Lena did. “Whatever works; whatever makes you happy.” That’s what Lena’s mother said, though usually with a sigh and a wave of her hand.
Whatever, Rebekah thought. That left a person with a whole universe full of choices. Maybe everything worked; maybe nothing worked. Maybe it took a whole lifetime to find out what made a person happy. Maybe some people never found it, no matter how many times they rummaged through the huge cosmic grab bag of possibilities. Rebekah didn’t want to be one of those people. She hoped she could reach in the bag and pull out the one thing that worked for her, the one thing that could always make her happy.
The Craft was what made Lena happy, but Rebekah thought she was in it for all the wrong reasons. She wasn’t like Aunt Jo, who really did want to do good, who really did want to be at peace with herself and the world. Lena’s only goal was to use her powers and energy to get what she wanted for herself.
“Okay, I think we’re almost ready,” Lena said. She read silently a moment from a spiral notebook on her lap. When she finished, she shut the book and laid it beside her on the floor.
Rebekah eyed the cover. Written there in large letters were the words “Property of Lena Barrett. Keep out.” As if anyone cared to read it. Even her own mother wasn’t interested in Lena’s Book of Shadows. Even as they were about to call on the powers of the universe on her behalf, the woman was downstairs drinking coffee, unconcerned about the two of them and what they might be doing to amuse themselves on a Sunday morning. She had stumbled into the kitchen a half hour earlier, just as the girls were rummaging through the spice rack, looking for basil and rosemary. She was still in her robe, her hair was a mess, and her skin was pasty and drawn. She moved around wide-eyed, as though trying to see without glasses, and she didn’t bother to respond when Rebekah said hello to her. Instead, she poured herself a cup of black coffee, set it before her on the kitchen table, and sat staring into it like the thing was a crystal ball instead of a steaming cup of caffeine. Rebekah knew a hangover when she saw one. So where was the giddy teenager Lena had been complaining about, the one they were supposed to be saving from herself on the grounds that she was too happy? Lena’s mother was no picture of love-induced happiness, or any kind of happiness, as far as Rebekah was concerned.
“Now, this is the spell you did before, right?” she asked her friend.
Lena nodded. “Yeah.”
“And what is it?”
“It’s a combination of stuff. I made it up.”
“But what’s it do?”
“All it does is put up a wall of protection around Mom. And it keeps the guys from coming back. That’s it.”
“And you’re sure it’s not going to hurt anybody?”
An impatient sigh. “Of course I’m sure.”
“You still haven’t told me what happened to the other guys.”
“Like I said, they just stopped coming around.”
The two girls looked at each other for a long moment. Finally Rebekah shrugged. “All right.”
“Oh, one more thing.” Lena dug into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out her cell phone. She placed it at the center of the altar, beside a framed photograph of her mother. “Okay, all I need you to do is concentrate on that picture of Mom. Just keep imagining a huge stone wall going up around her so nothing bad can touch her. All right?”
Rebekah nodded. She stared at the photograph on the altar. The woman was beautiful, far more beautiful than Lena, but wow—what rotten luck. Married and divorced how many times? Couldn’t keep a man in spite of her looks. Maybe because she had a daughter who kept interfering. Or maybe because she had about a thousand years of bad karma to work off, which from the way she looked this morning, she still wasn’t doing a very good job of.
Rebekah was vaguely aware of the scent of candles, of Lena standing up, taking small steps around her circle, chanting something. Rebekah went on staring at the photograph. Man, she didn’t want to end up like this lady. Alone. Unhappy. Drunk much of the time. Lena never talked about that part of their lives, but Rebekah knew the woman was an alcoholic. There was enough booze in the cupboards downstairs to keep several frat houses happy, and the only person around to drink it was Lena’s mother. And Lena. And Lena’s friends.
Rebekah jumped when Lena suddenly snapped, “Are you concentrating?”
“Yeah, I’m concentrating.”
“I need you to send out all your positive energy.”
“I know, I know. I’m doing it.”
Rebekah wished Lena would hurry up and finish. They hadn’t had much breakfast, and she was hoping they could go out and grab some lunch somewhere. Let’s just get rid of this guy and go get something to eat, she thought. She didn’t know who he was, and she didn’t much care at this point what the universe did with him, if Lena would just hurry up so they could grab a hamburger and some fries.
Several minutes dragged by. Rebekah felt sleepy. She stifled a yawn. Her stomach growled. She tried to picture a wall going up around Lena’s mother, stone by stone, but her mind kept drifting.
Finally Lena said, “Okay, I’m done. That should do it.”
“Yeah? You think there’s, like, some sort of force shield protecting your mom now? Like a wall of energy or something?”
“Uh-huh. Something like that.”
“So what do you think is going to happen to the guy?”
“I think he’s going to go away.”
“Since you’ve never seen him, how are you going to know when he’s not there?”
Lena squinted in disgust. “Very funny, Beka.”
Rebekah laughed. “Listen, I’m starving,” she said. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
“Okay. Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t care.”
“Your uncle’
s place?”
Rebekah shook her head. “No, not there.”
“Why? Your dad working? You know I want to meet him. I’ve never met an ex-con before. At least not that I know of.”
“You’ll meet him someday. No loss if you don’t. Anyway, he and Billy don’t work on Sundays. Why don’t we go to Dairy Queen? We can get some ice cream for dessert.”
“Sure, all right.” Lena reached for her phone on the altar and started to tuck it back into her pocket.
Rebekah looked at it curiously. “So what’s with the phone?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’ve got a picture of the guy.”
Rebekah looked up sharply. “I thought you said you’ve never seen him.”
“I haven’t.”
“So how’d you get his picture?”
“I found it on Mom’s phone, so I sent it to mine. Want to see what the loser looks like?”
“Sure. I guess.”
Lena opened the cell and pushed a few buttons. “This is him,” she said dryly. “And now he can kiss himself good-bye.”
Rebekah took the phone, turned it until she could see the face of the man they had just cast up to the mercy of the universe. She blinked, frowned, leaned one way and then another to see whether the face would change. But no matter which way she turned the phone, the face was the same.
“What’s the matter?” Lena asked. “The battery dead or something? Can’t you see it?”
Rebekah let out a small cry then, like a kitten snatched from its mother. She wanted to scream, but the wind had been knocked out of her.
“What’s the matter?” Lena asked again. “You look like you’re going to throw up. You sick or something? Hey, you’ll break the phone, throwing it like that. Beka . . . hey, Beka, wait a minute! What—”
But Rebekah was already making her way down the stairs and through the kitchen where Lena’s mother, Mrs. Jarvis, was asleep with her forehead pressed to the table, the fingers of her right hand curled loosely around a bottle of Scotch.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
