“I’m sorry, what?” Claudia asked.
“Paper or plastic?”
“Oh, um, paper I guess.”
“One-o-three ninety-six,” the cashier said. She handed him her debit card and he pointed to the electronic box in front of her. Amateur, Claudia could hear him think. She swiped her card and waited for the cashier input, the familiar sound of the receipt printing out.
“It’s not going through for some reason. Try swiping it again.”
Claudia felt heat rise up from her neck to her face and ears as she swiped the card through again. Oh God, please let this go through. Did Dan mail that Visa bill? I told him not to….
“It’s not going through. It’s saying insufficient funds in your account.” Claudia stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know what the problem is. I just took out an ATM this morning, maybe that’s the trouble—I took out too much money this morning.” She smiled at him, but she could tell he didn’t believe it either. “Well anyway.” She handed him her regular Visa card. “Try this.”
He pointed back at the electronic control pad in front of her. “You need to swipe it through.” His tone was sympathetic. She hadn’t been expecting that.
They waited. She stared at the keypad, willing the word approved to appear. She tried a glance at the woman behind her in line, but instead of the smile Claudia had been hoping for, the woman just looked quickly away, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Claudia wiped some sweat from her upper lip.
The register receipt started printing out. Claudia waved the front panel of her jacket back and forth a couple of times. Thank God. A cloud of relief enveloped all of them.
The cashier handed her the receipt. “Sign please,” he said, the low-level disdain returning to his voice.
She signed and got behind her cart while watching the juice bar, wanting to put this scene behind her. The woman was still sitting there, her brows knitted together over her reading glasses, as if she were very concerned about what she was reading. Her hair was pulled back into a bun today, taking away her hippie-like aura, making her seem almost professorial.
Claudia turned her cart in that direction. I’ll just park it outside and pretend I’m getting a drink to take with me and then she’ll either notice me or I can pretend to notice her and…
“You forgot your receipt,” the cashier called after her, the words you idiot hanging unsaid in the air. Claudia turned back with a laugh, shaking her head at herself. “Oh. Thanks,” she said. She made a face. Silly me. “Don’t want to forget that.”
She smiled at him, but he just looked at her, his initial coldness returning in its entirety. Claudia could just feel him exchange a look with the bagger after she’d turned around. “Hell-o.” He greeted the woman that had been behind her in line.
The woman in the café was still sitting at her table reading when Claudia approached the juice bar. She left her cart outside the railing that separated the small restaurant from the grocery store, worrying about the sun-dried tomato cream cheese that needed to get to a refrigerator.
Claudia scanned the overhead menu, careful to stand in the woman’s line of sight, but the woman didn’t look up. The crystal. Claudia started searching her purse for the crystal the woman had dropped at the bookstore. She’d been carrying it around in her pockets, hoping it would bring her good luck or answers or something. That was up until the previous week, when she’d found it on the floor of her classroom next to her desk and decided that, since it was such a slippery little thing, she’d be better off keeping it at home. She’d dropped it into her purse.
Claudia held her head close to the top of her bag while she searched. Where is it? It’s got to be in here—I don’t remember taking it out. I guess I must have. Damn. It would have been the perfect ice-breaker.
The little café was almost full. It only had four tables; each one could seat two, maybe three people. Claudia thought it might work out, if the couple in front of her took the last table, that she could ask the woman to share hers—although the woman might think it strange that Claudia would sit down and drink a cup of coffee while she watched her cart of groceries defrost.
She ordered a small latte and glanced back while the espresso machine steamed her milk. A juice machine whirred in the background, too. It was not the most serene place to read a book, Claudia thought. Maybe that’s what the woman had been frowning about.
Claudia didn’t understand why she felt so drawn to her, why she felt compelled to talk to her. It was true the woman had a calming presence; Claudia remembered the chills she’d felt when she’d watched her run her hands over the books at the bookstore. She seemed so confident and poised. “Don’t apologize,” she’d said. She was like the anti-Claudia.
When her coffee was ready she took it from the counter and turned around to look at the woman, who had just stood up with her back to Claudia. She was wearing a thick black turtleneck sweater over black slacks and she looked thinner than Claudia remembered. It must be the black, or maybe the skirt she’d been wearing the last time had made her look bigger.
Claudia had an awful revelation. What if all the long skirts I wear make me look fatter? She couldn’t deny that the woman was not shaped as much like an avocado as she remembered. Claudia quickly checked that thought, for fear of provoking another comment along the lines of “I don’t much care for avocados.”
The title of the book the woman had been reading was visible under her hand: A Prayer for Owen Meany.
“That’s a wonderful book,” Claudia blurted, happy at having found a way to break into conversation with her. “Do you like Irving?”
The woman turned toward Claudia, assessing her over the rims of her black reading glasses.
“Do I know you?” she asked, and Claudia wanted to die. Okay, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.
The woman seemed to sense her consternation. “No, dear. I meant, have we met before? I feel like I know you from somewhere.”
“I met you at the bookstore. Barnes and Noble? We weren’t properly introduced, but,” Claudia laughed nervously, “I mean, we never exchanged names, but we spoke briefly. You picked out some books, a stack and—I think you dropped your crystal. I still have it…just not with me, but if you want I could get it to you.”
“Well,” the woman paused, as if she were enjoying the refreshing moment of silence, “I’ve always believed that crystals come to you when they’re meant to be yours and leave you when they’ve done all they can for you.”
Claudia nodded in agreement, as if she understood this.
“What kind of crystal was it? What did it look like?”
Claudia held her thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. “Quartz, about this long, and very thin. I found it on the floor right after you left.”
“Hmm,” she paused, “I don’t think I…No. Wait. I did have a crystal like that once…I thought I’d lost it ages ago.” The woman thought for a long moment. “Maybe it had been in that skirt pocket all along. I hadn’t worn that skirt in ages. Ha! Well, either way, I think you should keep it.”
“Really? I can keep it? Oh. Well, thank you.”
The woman put her book into a black leather handbag even larger than the one Claudia carried. She took her coat, a black cape with a velvet collar and velvet trim around the pockets, and swung it around her shoulders. She started buttoning the large round buttons that went down the front.
“I’d better go, too.” Claudia nodded at her parked cart. “Got a cart full of groceries I need to get home.” She laughed. “Just needed a little afternoon pick-me-up.” She held her latte up to eye level and gave a little shrug.
The woman watched Claudia, a good-natured smile in her eyes.
Claudia tried to settle back down into herself. No more acting the goof. “You know,” Claudia took a deep breath, “I was wondering, since you’re an Irving fan and all, I mean this will probably sound strange just having met you, but if you like to read, I’m having a—”
Claudia stood for a moment, waiting for the woman to finish her call, but she didn’t want to appear to be eavesdropping so she stepped back a few paces and looked politely away. But that felt totally awkward, so she decided to leave, slowly, so the woman could catch up to her if she wanted to, if it were a short call. Claudia waved a timid good-bye at her and pointed toward the exit. The woman nodded and smiled without pausing her conversation. “No, no—don’t do that,” she said and Claudia stopped her departure, before realizing the woman had been talking into her phone.
Claudia nodded and waved again and watched the woman sit back down into the chair she had just vacated, her gigantic purse now resting on her lap.
Claudia put the grocery bags into the trunk of her car and walked the cart the whole way back to the store, putting her cart back into the queue—pushing it all the way in snug. She gave one last look into the store and then walked back to her car. When it started up, the clock on the dash said 4:30 p.m. Damn it. It would really be pushing it to try to get all the way down to Sam’s and back, especially since rush hour had begun. She’d have to pick up the wine at Rick and Dave’s Lakeview Liquors now and hope Dan didn’t have a cow about the price.
Chapter Eight
Claudia carried a glass of wine and a chair over from her dining room. She clunked the chair down between Gail and Jill, who scooched theirs over to make room. Lindsay followed Claudia into the now overcrowded living room and settled onto the couch next to Mara.
“How’s Tippy doing?” Lindsay took a sip of her wine, eyeing Mara over her glass.
She’s like an attorney, Claudia thought, asking a question she already knows the answer to.
“Just great.” Mara smiled her wide grin. “He’s back to his old self. He’s gained back almost all his weight.”
Lindsay sank more deeply into the couch, a look of satisfaction on her face as she took another sip of her wine. “Does anyone,” Lindsay said, still swallowing, “have any doubts about what we’ve done?”
“It just can’t be this simple,” Gail said, “wishing for something you want, chanting about it, throwing a few herbs into a bucket or lighting a candle and—voilà, magic.”
“Well, it’s not just throwing a few herbs into a bucket.” Lindsay frowned at her. “You have to use your energy, focus your energy onto your wish, into the herbs. I think that’s the hardest part, the concentrating. When I used to meditate at home, I always felt so scattered when I tried to focus my mind. Most of the time, I found myself thinking about everything else except what I wanted to be thinking about. I think that’s why this works in a group; we help each other focus and concentrate.”
Lindsay meditated? I never knew that. Huh. Claudia marveled at Lindsay, always so fearless in her willingness to try everything, the way she dove into her causes and trends with voracious abandon. It was admirable—even if she did end up abandoning most of her new things before too long. In fact, it was too bad Lindsay had quit meditating, because if anyone could use some focus, it was Lindsay. Then again, who was she to talk. If anyone could use more Zen moments, it was Claudia.
“I’ve always been curious about stuff like meditation,” Claudia said. “The supernatural, the metaphysical, all that New Age thought. The thing I never realized until I started reading this book we got is that all the things I thought were cool, that held some truth in them—ESP, numerology…astrology, herbology. What I didn’t know is that all these things, these ’ologies, are actually part of one ancient religion. I mean, I think it’s really neat that they are, but on the other hand I think the fact that witchcraft is a religion makes me…I don’t know, uncomfortable, I guess. I mean, I don’t think I could ever publicly call myself a witch, or even a Wiccan. It’s just too, I don’t know,” she waved her hand in circles at the end of her outstretched arm, “too, out there.”
There were nods of agreement around the room.
“Everyone just thinks witchcraft is satanic,” Mara said, “but they have no idea. It’s so totally not that. There’s no devil in Wicca at all. And if you were to call yourself a witch, people would either think you were nuts or a devil-worshipper—and they’d lock up their pets and small children.” She sank back into the couch and crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head.
“Maybe…” Lindsay paused and looked up for a long moment, then made her getting an idea face. She brought her eyes back down to the group. “Maybe we could just call what we’re doing ‘wishing.’ It’s obvious we don’t want to be a witch club, but I don’t think we’re just a book club anymore, either. Maybe we could be a ‘wish club.’ Then we wouldn’t have to get all caught up in the religion thing or the witchcraft thing.” Lindsay nodded her head in agreement with herself.
“We should just call it ‘wishing.’” Even though Lindsay was still sitting on the couch, she started doing her little hopping thing, bouncing up and down in the cushions. “That is what it is. And we’ve had such huge success I certainly don’t want to have to stop—and this way we won’t have to worry about what we tell other people, or about reading all these witchcraft books or consecrating circles and all that other stuff. If we could, like…say, after we’re done with our book discussions…make wishes for people. If we happen to use some herbs or a candle or some scented oil, well then, that’s just our New Age way of focusing our energy. It’ll just be our way of pulling it together.”
Lindsay was bouncing so hard on the couch now, that Claudia thought it a wonder she hadn’t catapulted Mara to the other side of the room.
“Oh come on, this is perfect.” Lindsay was in her groove now. “This is it. It may sound a little weird, maybe, but it certainly isn’t terribly ‘out there,’ and it isn’t going to get us run out of town or hung by a rope in the town square.”
“I think it’s a great idea!” Mara was nodding her head in agreement, or maybe it was just an aftershock from the vibrating couch.
Gail was nodding her head too, although more slowly. Even Jill seemed to be considering Lindsay’s idea.
Wishing. Hmm. Claudia liked the idea of wishing much better. Truly, what could be the harm in making a few wishes and burning some candles?
“Besides,” Mara said, “who doesn’t have a million things they want to wish for?”
“Of course,” Lindsay said. “See? We can make this work. We can still do this thing—we’ll just do it our way.”
They all started talking at once, as though a huge underlying tension had been broken. Their beloved Book Club wasn’t going to turn into some freaky coven. They were even still going to read books. Regular books. And then afterward they were going to make wishes. Wishes. Even the word had a simple, uplifting quality to it. Childlike and innocent. Wishes.
Everyone seemed happy. They were all talking and drinking their wine, discussing all the things they were going to wish for.
As Claudia listened to the discussion, she felt a lingering uneasiness. There was something she didn’t like about it, even though she couldn’t put her finger on it. Something about all of it that still gave her pause. Could it be that it was just semantics? Weren’t they really talking about practicing witchcraft without calling it practicing witchcraft?
“I’ve got a million things I’d like to wish for.” Mara’s face was flush with excitement.
Claudia swallowed a large gulp of wine and said out loud, to no one in particular, “Well, you know what they say about being careful what you wish for.” She was trying to be funny, but no one had laughed. It seemed her comment had gone unheard above the din.
A little black cauldron full of wishes hovered above Mara’s head, the hopeful paper scraps bouncing up and down like popcorn every time she shook it. The women had decided the most democratic way of choosing the wishes was for everyone to write one down on a piece of paper and then draw
them out of a bowl. Mara had been given the honor of drawing them out. Claudia had been given the honor of choosing the bowl and she’d picked her cauldron-like potpourri cooker. She enjoyed the irony.
Mara raised the bowl up over her head, closed her eyes tight, then reached her hand in, and pulled the first one out. “Okay, here we go.” She unfolded the small slip and looked around the room, trying to heighten the anticipation as if she were an announcer at the Academy Awards. “It says…’I want to have a baby.’ It’s Claudia’s wish.”
The women gushed out an “aww” in unison.
“Oh Claudia, that’s wonderful, honey,” Gail said. “Kids are great. Have you been trying?”
“Yeah, we have. A year or so—it hasn’t been…” She blinked and looked up, on the verge of tears.
“Well, don’t worry about what hasn’t been, my dear,” Lindsay came to her rescue. “Start worrying about how to decorate the nursery, because we are going to make this happen for you.”
Mara consulted Claudia’s copy of The Modern Witches’ Grimoire. Its celestial cover design was a throwback to another era, something from a 1950s textbook, and it gave the impression that any witches pictured on the inside would, along with the pointy hat, be wearing a frilly apron and holding a tray of fresh-baked muffins.
For a fertility spell, The Modern Witches’ Grimoire suggested a green candle, a handful of dirt, and some sage leaves. Gail was put in charge of procuring the dirt, which meant she had to walk down three flights of stairs and dig under the snow in the front yard, using one of Claudia’s serving spoons, because Claudia didn’t own a shovel. She dumped several spoonfuls of dirt into a bowl and when she got back inside, Gail told them that a man out walking his dog had asked her, as he passed, if she’d gotten his ex-wife’s recipe for soup.
Jill’s effort to find a green candle in the drawer of the dining room’s built-in hutch was much less farcical. Mara and Lindsay stayed on the couch and consulted their books to write the chant and work out how to do the spell. And Claudia went to find the sage.
Wish Club Page 8
