The candle flame danced, and she focused on its swaying movements and whispered, “I am ready, I am strong; reveal to me where I belong.” She repeated the spell a second and third time and closed her eyes, willing her path to materialize in her mind.
“No.” She lifted her eyelids. “Not him.”
She took another sip of bourbon and readjusted herself from kneeling to sitting, her legs bent. “Let’s try this again. My eyes are shrouded, my soul is blind; the weeds they cling, and to my feet, they bind. Clear them away to reveal the lane I must travel to breathe once again.”
As before, she repeated the spell and closed her eyes, only to open them again and sigh.
After finishing her bourbon, she settled further into the blanket and said, “Now listen to me. Stop playing games. This is serious. My life and Chad’s depend on this, so I’ll spell it out as clearly as I can. Ready? Okay, I ask that you show me the path I should take to create a loving, safe, blessed life for Chad and myself.” She added as punctuation for her request, “Always a blessing; it always works. Blessed be.”
Lying back on the blanket, she stared up at the moon and waited. It didn’t take long. A mist covered her mind, and in it, she saw a cozy house surrounded by colorful gardens. Chad played hide-and-seek with Jasper around the base of a massive beech tree while, in the vision, she stood on the front porch, smiling. There was a peaceful comfort to the scene. At the beep of a horn, she faced the driveway, and her smile widened. Chad ran over to the large, black truck coming to a stop. The driver’s side door opened, and St. John appeared.
“Give me a break,” she cried out and covered her face with her hands.
******
St. John watched the flames consume the new piece of oak he’d added to the fire pit and sipped his second glass of bourbon. Overhead, a beacon of a moon lit up the pines framing his land, and Sadie darted from shadow to shadow, chasing nocturnal creatures. For the past two hours, he’d read Shannon’s blog and had learned a fair amount about her spiritual beliefs.
He’d always thought there were only two kinds of witches—black and white, something he’d learned from spending time over in Portsmouth. But, nope, there were dozens of different types of white witches. Shannon belonged to a category called hedge witches, which were different from kitchen witches which were different from earth witches which were different from… His head was spinning, and he still knew diddly-squat about the woman behind the green eyes, although he had discovered a new recipe for roast chicken.
Her face refused to leave his mind, as did her laughter. And her perfume. He’d once joked that the woman capable of unsealing his heart would be wearing Chanel No. 5, and here she was. Unfortunately, she lived in Wexford. And she was married to Baldos.
How’d she even end up with a jerk like Justin? The guy was a misogynistic, loud-mouthed prick. He treated everyone around him like dirt. What on earth could he possibly have offered Shannon to get her to marry him? Money?
She’d mentioned a divorce, but Peg had said Justin wouldn’t let the kid go, and Shannon didn’t come across as someone who would put up a fight. Yeah, there’d been a glimpse of a determined spirit in her eyes, but the flicker hadn’t lasted long. Maybe taking her to bed would provide the push she needed. Plus, screwing Baldos’ wife would be an added perk.
Denise had been clear: stay away from Shannon.
“Yeah, stay away from Shannon, good advice. Thanks, Denise,” he told his drink before emptying the glass. The best part had been what she’d said about him using women, which was a lie; he didn’t use women—and if he did, they used him right back.
But he didn’t.
Every woman knew the score before he even laid a hand on them. No second encounters. No attachments. No chance of a relationship. Clean and simple. Just like his life.
Denise couldn’t say he hadn’t tried to be in a relationship. Three times, to be exact. Three marriages and three divorces.
He chuckled and refilled his glass. Marty’s advice after his last divorce had been priceless. ‘Keep your dick on a leash and carry a prenup.’
Well, he didn’t need any contracts, and he didn’t need to control his sex drive. He’d learned his lesson—once burned, shrug it off; twice burned, shame on him; three times burned, he was a fucking idiot. It was after his first divorce that the romance rules had come into play. The first four were the most important: never sleep with a married woman; never sleep with a woman who lived in Wexford; never offer a second night; and above all, never, ever fall in love.
Love. It was nothing more than an excuse people used to inflict heartache.
All three of his wives had professed their love, and look what it had cost him: a ton of money and his pride.
Emotionally vacant.
That’s what his second wife had written as her reason for the divorce. And his third hadn’t offered much better, telling him he was ‘dead inside.’
Ah, sweet, manipulative Victoria. That debacle of a marriage had been the most expensive mistake of his personal life. ‘You’re incapable of loving someone,’ she’d said. His response of a signature on a hefty settlement had sure made her happy, though.
Yup, love was for suckers. Better to enjoy the pleasure of someone’s company and walk away, which was exactly what he’d like to do with Shannon Baldos. Spend a little quality time with her, then say goodbye and live his life.
His lonely, isolated life.
No, he wasn’t lonely; he was alone. There was a difference. Being lonely meant he was walking around wishing someone would come along to share his life. Being alone meant he didn’t need anyone. He’d gotten very good at being alone.
So why was he suddenly—? Yeah, he knew.
“Fuck this,” he growled into the shot glass before dumping the contents into his mouth.
Sadie ran over to his chair and placed her snout on his knee.
He scratched behind her ears.
“Don’t worry, girl, I’m fine. I just need a distraction.”
He removed his cell from his shirt pocket and pulled up the phone number he’d received that afternoon. The call was answered halfway through the first ring. Always a good sign.
“Hey, it’s Adam St. John. Feel like some company?”
Chapter 9
“No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”
Aesop
Even with the early morning temperature nearing eighty, the excitement in the Wexford Community School parking lot was undaunted. Students, aged five to fifteen ran, laughed, sang, and shouted. Leeann, two e’s-two n’s, stood in the middle of the chaos, a stack of manila envelopes held in her left arm and a bullhorn pressed to her mouth. Each time she let loose a command, kids, all wearing T-shirts of the same color, would freeze. Once the chaperons had their charges safely stowed in a designated bus, another group would receive their instructions. And so the boarding of the busses for the end-of-the-school-year field trip to Canobie Lake progressed, with Leeann confidently at the helm.
It was into this military zone that Shannon and Chad walked. “Munchkin, go put your lunch in the box by Miss Brewster’s feet and get your T-shirt from Dylan’s mom.”
Chad looked as if he was considering his options when Dee arrived with her youngest and snarled, “Dylan, go with Chad and get your T-shirt and don’t get into any trouble, or you’ll spend the day at home, locked in your room.”
“Tough morning, Dee?”
“What else is new? I had to do everything while Jeff went to the lodge for breakfast. I swear, that man is useless.” Dee took out a tube of sunscreen and waved it in front of Shannon. “I figured you’d forget yours.”
Shannon frowned at the offering. What a win it would have been if she’d been able to say she had her own, but sadly, it was sitting on the kitchen counter where she’d left it after slathering Chad. “Thanks, I did, but the good news is I got Chad done before we left.”
“You’ll need more if he goes in the water park. I brought a couple
of tubes. Keep that one.” Dee wiped at the sweat around her neck. “Christ, it’s seven-thirty and already eighty. Wasn’t it fifty last night? I can’t stand this stinking weather.” As if she’d just noticed Shannon’s black-and-white skirt, white sleeveless blouse, and black-and-white, polka-dot headscarf, she snickered. “Only you would dress as if you’re going to a garden party.”
Shannon looked down and swished the skirt, making the flowing fabric swirl around her legs. “Is this your way of saying I look nice?”
“Yeah, if you’re going to visit the Queen of England. This is Canobie we’re heading to, a place known for its dust and filth.”
“I think you’re exaggerating,” Shannon said. “And besides, I don’t plan on rolling on the ground.”
Peg joined them and distributed iced coffees. “Nice outfit, Shan. Oh, great.” She claimed the sunscreen and called after her two sons, but they waved her off. “Fine,” she shouted. “Get sunburned. See if I care.”
Dee lifted her cup and chided, “Mother of the year.”
“Bite me.”
“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Dee said. “What, you didn’t get a chance to do leaping frog or whatever move you do in the morning?”
Peg narrowed her perfectly shaped brows at Dee. “As I said, bite me.”
Leeann screamed into her bullhorn, and Shannon winced. “I wish someone would take that thing away from her.”
“I’ll do it,” Peg said. “Miss two e’s, two fucking n’s, better stay off my back today, or that bullhorn will be so far down her throat she’ll have to poop to get it out.”
“Peg.” The coffee that had been in Shannon’s mouth hit the pavement. “Wow, this is a side of you I’ve never seen. Are you okay?”
“It’s Howard. I can’t stand him, and I can’t stand my witch—oh, sorry, bitch of a daughter either.”
Shannon widened her eyes and gave Dee a look that asked if she knew what was going on.
Dee responded with a shrug. “Peg, you’re gonna have to can it. Shannon, did you check in with the blond commandant?”
“Not yet. I’ll see you two at the park. Thanks for the coffee, Peg.”
“Do you want your sunscreen?”
“Oh, yeah, thanks.” Shannon waved the tube and dragged her feet in the direction of their leader. “Hey, Leeann, I’m here,” she called out and quickly changed direction for bus twelve, hoping one of the other chaperones had the roster.
“You can go home,” Leeann said.
Shannon stared at the five-foot woman. “Excuse me?” She couldn’t have heard correctly. As of yesterday, they were still looking for chaperones, and now she was being dismissed?
Leeann raised the bullhorn to her lips. “Go home. We don’t need you. Go count toadstools or something.” She made a shooing motion with her hand and returned to shouting orders.
Shannon glanced around, hoping no one had heard the dismissal. Who was she kidding? The bitch had used a frigging megaphone.
She wiped at the corners of her eyes and scanned the area near Chad’s bus. He was giggling with his friends while they waited to board the bus. When he’d found out she was going to be a chaperone, he’d started singing one of his silly songs about how his mommy was sharpening him at Canary Park. Was she really going to let the Wicked Bitch of the East steal their memories?
She collected the folds of her skirt and strode back to where Leeann was playing commando. “Leeann, got a minute?”
Leeann spun, eyes wide with shock. “Shannon, I’m…I’m busy. Go away.”
“This will only take a sec.” Shannon grinned. “I’m thinking your comment about the toadstools is a reference to my being a witch. Am I correct?”
The suddenly pale blond looked as if she wanted to bolt. “W…what’s your point?”
“You’re not too bright, are you?”
Leeann’s petite hands pressed the megaphone against her rib cage. “I…”
“Let me finish,” Shannon said. “You see, I’m wondering why, since you know I’m a witch and you know what witches are capable of, you’d want to piss me off. I’ll take that.” A low snickering spread through a nearby cluster of mothers when she plucked from Leeann’s hands the manila envelope with the number 12 printed on it. “Thanks.” She added a sweet smile, turned, and strolled toward the bus. There she greeted the two other chaperones, who each discreetly gave her a thumbs up.
One hundred and thirty kids sat on towels in the shade of Canobie’s picnic grove. They ate sandwiches, chips, and carrot sticks, and sipped their juice boxes while their voices carried through the tall trees. Only one boy, Raylan Griffin, sat crossed-legged, his head bent, silently crying. It was next to this young man that Shannon knelt. His mother had packed a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, a carton of milk, along with a chocolate chip cookie wrapped in a napkin. And Leeann had confiscated it all.
‘Your mother could have killed someone,” Leeann said. “And it would have been your fault for bringing this into the park. Do you understand? I’m taking the whole bag because the cookie could have nuts, and the milk has been next to nuts.’
While listening to Leeann deliver her chilling malice with expert precision, Shannon had remained quiet, as had all the other parents and the children.
Raylan Griffin, along with five older siblings, lived with his parents in an apartment over the town’s one gas station and liquor store. Raylan’s mother cleaned the mansions St. John built, and the father, labeled the town drunk, performed odd jobs such as mucking horse stalls and repairing broken gutters. The town residents knew Harlan Griffin didn’t drink. He’d been walking home late one night, and a car had hit him. The driver left the scene and the unconscious father of six was found the next morning. It was easier for the residents of Wexford to blame alcohol as the reason Harlan was no longer ‘right’ instead of admitting that one of their own had done a terrible thing.
“Hey, Raylan,” Shannon said, “I packed two lunches for Chad, and he only wanted one of them. Would you like the other one?” The bag she held hadn’t been prepared for Chad. She’d run to one of the food stands. She knew he’d never accept her offering if he knew the truth; the Griffins were a proud lot.
Raylan responded in a whisper, “No thank you, ma’am.” Fat tears hit his ragged towel.
Shannon remained next to him. There was no pity in her heart. There was anger. White, hot anger. People like Leeann and Justin weren’t just bullies; they were monsters, spewing their candy-coated toxicity at anyone they deemed too weak to fight back.
It was a fair contest when they chose adult targets; adults possessed the power to fight back although, like her, many didn’t. But when self-serving assholes singled out children, it made her blood boil.
“Come on, Raylan, it will just go to waste. There’s a burger, hot dog, and even brownies. You can share if you want. I don’t mind at all.”
She opened the bag and placed it near his scuffed knees, the aroma of French fries escaping as she rejoined her companion chaperons and watched. Nearby boys came over, sniffing and wanting to know what was in the bag. Raylan inspected the contents. His tears stopped. Eventually, the only reminder they’d even existed were brown streaks along his cheeks.
“Are you gonna share, Ray?” a nearby boy asked.
“Sure.” Raylan poured the food onto his towel and the kids converged like seagulls on a plate of fried clams. Soon they were grinning and laughing, and for one small moment in time, Raylan Griffin was on top of the world.
Leeann cooed, “Shannon, Chad left his towel in the water park. Would you mind going and getting it?”
“I could have sworn I saw him holding his towel.” Shannon stood on the pavement next to bus 12 and checked the names of students against her roster while they boarded. “Give me a sec.”
“There’s no time.” Leeann took possession of the clipboard. “He said it’s near the gift shop?”
“But—”
“Go.” Leeann made a shooing motion. “We’
ll wait.”
Shannon nodded and ran to the park entrance. The busses were on a schedule, but of course they’d wait; they wouldn’t leave her behind.
The cashier at the gift shop told her nothing had been left behind. “Ask the lifeguard,” the elderly woman offered.
“Where’s that?”
“Next to the carousel.”
Shannon swore and went to find the lifeguard.
“Nope, not here. Try lost-and-found.”
“Of all the stupid…” She ran on.
She raced inside the building and, gulping for air, asked for the lost-and-found.
No towel.
That was when the light dawned.
Not caring if she knocked over little old ladies, she rushed for the entrance. Just as she’d expected, the busses were gone.
She sat on a nearby bench and contemplated crying. Instead, she pulled herself together and started making phone calls.
When Dee answered, a din of chaos blasted through the phone. “Hey, Shan, what’s—? Harry, drop that. Shan, are your kids having a meltdown too?”
“I’m not on the bus.” Shannon scowled.
“What? Speak up. Harry, if you don’t put that down, I will make sure you have detention until you graduate.”
“I’m not on my bus,” she shouted. “I got left behind. Can you come and get me?”
“I can’t. Jeff and I have that thing tonight. Did you try Justin?”
“Yes, he’s out of the office. Peg’s phone went to voicemail.”
“Sit tight, and I’ll call you right back.”
“Thank you.”
She returned the phone to her bag and slammed her back against the bench, her arms crossed. How did she think she could handle being a single mother? She couldn’t even get through one stinking field trip.
Chapter 10
Breaking the Rules Page 6