“They really don’t know how bad it makes us all look,” Laura sighed. “They should be wearing T-shirts that say, ‘Please, dear God, pay attention to me!’”
“We both wore combat boots and plastic barrettes well into our teens,” Suzanne reminded her. “We need to let them have their expression, even if they look as horrible as we did back then.”
“The thing is, that’s just a phase, for most of us, and most of us never go to that extreme.” Laura tipped her head toward the flamboyant attendees. “It’s just like anything else . . . A lot of young people who are desperate for an identity—any identity—find out about us and plow through the books in record time. In a month, they’ve got seven pentagrams and three athames and likely the beginnings of an herbal garden at home, and their wardrobe has become a lot more flowing. They walk around in public, sticking out like sore thumbs, getting the attention they want, and they never actually sink themselves fully into the craft.” She shook her head a little woefully. “Rather than using the things in the books to help find themselves, they focus on the veneer, because that’s the immediate gratification. You can look like a real witch even if you ain’t one yet. Then, in a year or two, all the books and clothes and seeds and crystals I sell them will be gathering dust at the back of a closet, and they’ll refer to their time with the craft as a ‘phase.’”
“The craft?” Suzanne asked doubtfully. “It’s a craft now? As in arts and crafts?”
“Sort of.” Laura poured Chex mix into a hollowed-out corn husk. “Think of it this way. We’re such a get-up-and-go society that sitting still is tough for us. Wicca, or witchcraft, gives us rituals—things that we can do, and by actually doing something, even as little as chanting a prayer while lighting a candle, that makes us feel like we’ve accomplished something.”
“So, they just forget about the readings and the spells and all that?”
“Most of them do, I’m afraid.”
“Hmmm.” Suzanne pretended to think it over. “Now what would someone who wasn’t a witch do if she suddenly found herself in possession of a love spell tucked into some books given to her by a long-lost friend?”
Laura grinned impishly. “First of all, I would hope and pray to the Goddess that the person who found the potion would take a chance and just give it a try. If you believe in the potion, it’ll work. If you don’t believe in it, it won’t work.”
“So, it’s all about what I believe?”
“Kind of, it’s . . .” Laura stopped to think for a moment as she rearranged the snacks. “Let’s just say, I’m a firm believer in belief.” She giggled like the high school girl Suzanne had once known. “Many times in my life, I’ve seen someone decide, ‘I’m going to do this. This is going to happen for me.’ And good or bad, it always does.”
“You’re yanking my chain, right?” Suzanne asked warily.
“Nope.” Laura looked right into Suzanne’s dark eyes with her clear blue ones and laid a hand on her arm. “Look, honey, this isn’t the time or the place . . . But you’ve had a tough time of it your whole life. You wouldn’t believe anything that wasn’t laid out before you because you’ve been taught the only thing you can count on is yourself.”
Suzanne was startled. Had Laura read her tea leaves on their last visit? Or gotten that information from Ava as she searched for her beloved angel books (of which Suzanne had found a cache in her bedroom one day while Ava was at a meeting)? She didn’t think Ava would describe her that way, and there hadn’t been any leaves left from the tea, so the only answer left was that those clear, sweet blue eyes saw everything—on the surface and under. It was surprisingly refreshing, and more than just a little scary.
“Wow,” she said finally. “I don’t think anyone has ever gotten me this quickly in my whole life.”
“Scary, huh?” Laura smiled. “A lot of it is basic psychology, the way people carry themselves, their body language, the way they conduct themselves. Just the structure of their lives in general.”
“And the rest? You said a lot of it is psychology, but what’s the rest of the secret to reading someone like a book?”
Laura stopped working entirely and looked at Suzanne, tucking an errant auburn lock behind her ear. “I trust my instincts,” she admitted. “It’s how I survive. That whole experience in New York, I didn’t listen to anything my instincts told me—I didn’t listen to any of the little voices inside of me. And look how that worked out.”
Little voices? Inside her?
Suzanne took a deep breath, putting her hand on the table to steady herself. Short of Laura breaking into her house and reading her diary—which she hadn’t updated since her second date with Steve—Laura knew things about her that she could only have seen with very, very perceptive eyes. And maybe a little gut feeling.
“So, I thought it was a good time for the love potion because even though you’re just now getting divorced,” Laura wrinkled her nose, “it’s been a long time since you’ve had love—real, binding, passionate-but-full-of-friendship love.”
It was Suzanne’s turn to laugh. It didn’t take any special insight to recognize that. In fact, it had been so long since she’d had sex that she wondered if she could be called a virgin all over again.
What if I’m not good at it anymore? she thought, desperately. What if there’s new stuff out there that I don’t know how to do? What if . . .
“You always find what you’re looking for when you’re not looking.” Laura’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Frankly, it almost always seems to happen at the most inconvenient times.”
“Yeah.” Suzanne could tell she wasn’t going to be able to talk her out of it. After all, Laura was in love, and those hooked on the love drug almost always became pushers. Then again, Laura, who had always seemed to be at the top of her game, had never seemed more real, more alive, more at peace with herself than she had since they’d renewed their acquaintance. Maybe there was something to this witch stuff, after all.
“So, promise me you’ll do the spell, and you’ll try to believe in it?” Laura asked casually. “Just try?”
Suzanne looked down, toeing the carpet with her Converse high-tops. (Molly was mortified about this until someone told her how “cool” her mother was, and Molly then proudly agreed). “Well, I already, I sort of . . . it’s . . .”
“ . . . on your bureau, or in your bathroom, or on the windowsill?” Laura said gravely. “Yeah, I kinda figured it would be.”
Suzanne burst out laughing. “Okay, how did you know that? The other stuff, the psych and the gut feelings, I’ll give you, but how did you . . .”
“Because you’re a smart person,” Laura smiled, “and a smart person’s reasoning would go something like, ‘Hmm, let me think about it for a few days . . . Well, it might not work, but it certainly couldn’t hurt to give it a try, and boy,’” she inhaled deeply, “‘it would be damn fine to get me some nice man action right about now.’”
Suzanne couldn’t stop laughing. “That’s pretty much how it went.”
“That’s pretty much how it always goes.”
The bus stopped outside the store, and nearly two dozen people—some dressed in corporate clothing, some in track suits, some in Harry Potter garb—got out and filed inside.
“Are all of these people . . . witches?” The word, no matter how hard she tried, still felt awkward coming out of her mouth.
“No, some of them are just people who want to hear the readings of a strong female speaker. Remember, we also cater to the feminist crowd. Tonight, we’ve got Susan Poulin. She’s a hoot.”
“I think I’ve heard of her.” Suzanne pondered for a moment. “What kinds of books does she write?”
“Oh, she doesn’t write books; she impersonates women—types of women, I should say,” Laura nodded. “She’s a humorist, but then under the humor, you get to see the strength of the woman she’s showing you. She’s a friend of mine, I’m pleased to say. All of the writers, performers, and speakers I bring in celebrate t
he strength of women and the things we do to endure everyday challenges. Susan just happens to do it with laughter.” Laura shook her head firmly. “There is no better teacher than laughter.”
“That is true,” Suzanne noted, “and that is brilliant. Did you make that up?”
“I’m quotin’ my man,” said Laura happily. She was so comfortable with herself, she didn’t even notice the offended glares these words evoked from half the women in earshot. Obviously, some of the half just hated men, while the rest of the half just didn’t want or need them.
With a jolt, she recalled that her daughter, her Molly, fell into that second category. Well, that was an exaggeration, she supposed. Look at her relationship with Brandon, who was the closest friend Suzanne had ever seen Molly invite into her life. But the information that her daughter was a lesbian, a gay, or whatever you wanted to call it, kept sneaking up on her like a cold splash in the face.
“Well, he’s a smart one,” Suzanne changed the subject before the glaring women could form a lynch mob. “So, how does a reading work?”
“It’s all very casual. She’ll get up, do her act, and then we’ll all ask her questions that she answers in character and then as Susan. Afterwards, we’ll try to get everyone to eat this snack mountain. Everyone always brings too much food, and there’s nothing that bugs Billy more than food going to waste.”
There were only a couple of cold stares at the mention of Laura’s husband, but Suzanne ignored it this time. If they were going to be upset every time Laura mentioned she had a husband she was crazy about, then they deserved to be irritated.
“No booze?” Suzanne was pleased to note. Growing up in a drunken household had made her appreciate chemical-free events, even when her mother wasn’t there to worry about.
“Oh, no, only dry readings here at Goddess Treasures,” Laura told her, fanning out the napkins. “My mom is a huge drunk and druggie—has been her whole adult life, maybe even before—and Billy’s dad came back from Vietnam with a pot habit he never shook. Since these things are genetic, we try to stay away from substances of all kinds.”
Suzanne’s jaw dropped. She would not have been more shocked if Laura, the prom queen, had told her that she was actually the mutant child of a space princess, abandoned here on earth because of her deformities.
While Laura, the perfect student, the girl everyone wanted to befriend or be like—while she was carving her place in Portsmouth High School history—she was also going home to a mother who was blitzed out of her gourd or passed out on the couch or, worst of all, out there somewhere in the world, waiting for some kind soul to deliver her home.
They had had the exact same secret, carried the exact same burden, hid the same shame as they sat next to each other in class day after day, year after year. Strangers within their little self-important world, with so much in common.
She wanted to crawl into Laura’s lap and cry. She wanted to absorb Laura’s serenity, to be so honest and open and brave and accepting of everything. To be able to just drop these things into a conversation so casually . . .
I will never be that brave. Her chest ached. Oh, Laura, it’s high school all over again; I want to be you.
“God, I can’t believe I didn’t tell you that before.” Laura put her hands on Suzanne’s. “It took me such a long time to be able to say it out loud. You know, all during junior high and high school, I couldn’t invite anyone over while she was there, because, well, they’d see how disgusting she was, and I couldn’t tell a teacher or anyone, because . . .”
“Because they might have said it was your fault that she drank—that’s what you were afraid of.” Suzanne squeezed Laura’s fingers. “You were too young to realize that they wouldn’t. You were used to irrational adults at home—one parent always sauced, the other always defending the crazy behavior—so why not at school as well?”
Laura’s eyes softened. “That’s right. You know this path well, don’t you?”
“That I do, my friend,” Suzanne nodded. “That I do.”
“Well, I consider Ava an inspiration.” Laura went back to rearranging the snacks. “Maybe one day my mom will follow in her footsteps.”
Suzanne’s jaw dropped again, this time in dismay.
“You mean your mother still hasn’t . . .”
“Hey, Mom!”
Suzanne turned to see Molly as she butted and excused herself past twenty or thirty people with no particular grace. She had an older man that Suzanne had never seen before in tow. A slightly embarrassed look was sprawled across his handsome face.
Molly, on the other hand, was simply beaming. “Hey, Mom. This is my friend Sean.”
“Well, hi, Molly’s friend Sean,” said Suzanne, a little startled. “Who are you, and how do you know my very young female child?”
“Easy does it, Mama lion.” Sean held his hands up. “Being old enough to be her father and then some, I can assure you that my friendship with Molly is brand-new. And not of the nature that you’d have to be concerned about.”
“Oh, she’s not worried about that,” Molly interjected smoothly. “She knows I do chicks.”
“Molly! ” Suzanne glanced hastily around to see if anyone had heard. “For heaven’s sake, you don’t have to be so loud !”
Molly stared at her for an instant, the look in her eyes so full of disgust, Suzanne was jolted.
I know that look, Suzanne thought uncomfortably. I know that look because I’ve done that look. That’s the look that I used to give Mom back when I was peeling her off the kitchen floor, trying to get some coffee into her before Daddy got home.
“Well, it was nice to meet you,” offered Sean, clearly wanting to escape the suffocating tension. “Maybe I’ll see you at intermission.”
He disappeared into the crowd, and Suzanne touched Molly’s hand, trying to diffuse the situation.
“I didn’t mean it like that, honey, I just thought . . .”
“Hey, girl, I thought you weren’t going to make it.” A woman in a tight tank top, jeans, and very short hair approached Molly and put a hand on her shoulder, looking at Suzanne evenly. Suzanne desperately tried to keep her expression neutral. “Hi, I’m Sandy.”
“Hi, Sandy,” Suzanne said. To her own ears, her voice sounded a bit too hearty. Laura pressed a hand on her back, letting her know she was booming. Lowering her voice, she added, “I’m Suzanne. I’m Molly’s mom.”
Sandy’s eyes widened, taking Suzanne in. “Sorry,” she apologized. “You just don’t look old enough to have a daughter as old as Molly.”
“She’s not,” Molly said coldly. “Let’s go.”
Before Suzanne had a chance to ask, “What the hell was that supposed to mean?” Sandy had taken Molly’s hand and was pointing toward a group of women. Mostly they were chatting amongst themselves, but a few of them were looking at Molly the way Suzanne had gotten used to construction workers looking at her when she walked down the street.
“You want to sit with the Dianas? We’re all over there.” Sandy pointed to them, and Suzanne felt her stomach tighten. She wanted to bat these women away, and she hated herself for it. She’d seen hundreds of programs on television in which lesbians were normal, often gorgeous women, but in her real-life experience, they all looked a little on the mannish side. She kicked herself for the generalization. After all, she’d marched a dozen or more times for the pride, twice in New York City, when they’d gone there to visit Steve’s grandmother and his gay cousin Liam.
So why was it okay to be proud of Liam and not Molly? Damn it, where were these feelings coming from?
“Sure, let’s,” Molly nodded. “I mean, I’m only here with my mom . . .”
“Her very proud mom,” Suzanne emphasized loudly, trying to make up for her initial reaction. She grabbed Sandy’s hand and pumped it firmly, a huge smile plastered on her face. Molly looked like she wanted to fall through the cracks in the floor; Laura’s pats on the back became more urgent.
“Well, Molly’s very proud
mom,” Sandy said coolly. “You’ve raised up one fine girl.”
Suzanne kept that grin plastered on her face as she let go of Sandy’s hand, but she couldn’t meet the girl’s very direct gaze, so she pretended to look over the crowd.
“Laura, you really packed them in tonight. Great job with the marketing.” She took a sip of the papaya juice, suddenly wishing there was a shot of something very strong available. “I’ve been thinking that might be something I’d be interested in going into.”
“You’d be great at that!” Laura grabbed her hand, eyes shining. “For PR, you’ve got to be likeable, innovative, persistent, and not afraid to annoy people. In a word, it’s you.”
Suzanne raised an eyebrow at her new friend. “Try as I might, I’m not sure I can see that as a compliment.”
“But I have to tell you,” Laura smiled at the steady stream of women who were entering the room, “it’s easy PR when you’ve got Susan on the bill. She’s so amazing that people would line up and listen to her read the phone book.”
“You bet they would,” Sandy chimed in her husky voice. “I would, that’s for damn sure.”
“So, Mom, we’ll see you later?” Molly was clearly ready for some space. “Have fun.”
“See you,” Suzanne called sadly, watching her only daughter take the hand of this stranger, this woman whose haircut was shorter than Brandon’s, who wore men’s jeans and a hoop in her nose. So this was her daughter’s first romantic interest.
Are you really that naive? She kicked herself. Come on, Denial Woman. She didn’t discover this overnight. Chances are, she took a swim in the pool before buying a membership to the club.
Then Sean came back out of the crowd, and Molly seemed to remember something. She whispered into Sandy’s ear, and they both made their way back to the group of chairs Laura and Suzanne had staked out.
“We changed our minds,” Molly announced. “We’ll sit here with you guys.”
“The Dianas won’t like it,” Sandy warned, but Molly didn’t budge.
“If they don’t like it, fuck ’em.”
Suzanne was relieved beyond all measure to hear those words. Her Molly would always stick up for herself. Yes, at least she had made sure that was instilled in her. “What are the Dianas, anyway?” Suzanne asked Laura. “Are they a cult?”
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