Breaking the Rules

by Tinthia Clemant

  “This is my fucking house, and I’m not going anywhere. Now let me in.” He moved but stopped short when Jasper growled.

  “You’re a bastard,” she said, her anger blossoming. “What were you thinking? You not only locked me out, but you locked Chad out too. What did you expect, that he’d sleep in the car with me? And a gun? In a drawer where he could find it?”

  Justin laughed. “I don’t care where you and the brat sleep. As for the gun, I kept it in case I had to put a mad dog down… Or an insane wife.” He bent to pick up his underwear and threw them in his car. “I don’t need the gun. Maybe some night when you’re sleeping, I’ll just blow the whole fucking house up. Kaplooey.” He raised his arms and wiggled his fingers. “Little pieces of Shannon floating down over the town.”

  She slapped him across the cheek, the snap of skin on skin silencing the robin. His face, where she’d hit, turned a rosy shade of pink. “You’re sick. First, you lock your son out of his house, and now you’re threatening to kill him. Or have you forgotten he sleeps in this house too?”

  Justin formed a fist and raised it, lowering his hand when a police cruiser entered the driveway. Moving away quickly, Justin went and stood by his car and smoothed his hair. He wore a wide grin and waved at the cop getting out of the police car. “Hey, J.C. What are you doing here?”

  “We got a call.”

  Shannon spoke up. She knew that if she didn’t cut off the good-ol’-boy chatter, she’d never get help. Trying her best to remember what the lawyer in the video had said, she started slowly. “Officer, I… I fear for my life and that of my son, and my lawyer…attorney, Martin Decker, has advised me to request the removal of my husband, but he’s refusing to leave.”

  “Let me get this straight…” J.C. scratched his multiple chins. “You want me to remove Justin from his own house because you’re skittish? That seems a bit harsh, even for you, Shannon.” He sucked in as much of his obtrusive gut as humanly possible and hitched his utility belt up to what should have been his waist. “Why don’t you conjure up a spell or something?”

  From his spot by his car, Justin chuckled. “Good one, J.C.”

  “Okay, I see where this is going.” Shannon tapped her phone and raised it to her ear. “Hello, this is Shannon Baldos. May I speak with Attorney Becker? Yes, thank you, I’ll hold.”

  She met J. C.’s glare and listened to Peg’s phone recording. “Yes, hello Attorney Becker. What? No, things are not going well.” She paused for effect and then repeated what J.C. had said. “You’ll call the sergeant? Great, thank you, and I’d like to file a formal complaint against the officer. His badge number?”

  J. C. said, “Hold up there, Shannon. I never said I wasn’t gonna do nothin’.”

  “I’m sorry, Attorney Decker, hold on.” Shannon held the phone close to her chest. “What, J.C.? I didn’t hear you.”

  “There’s no need for that. Tell your lawyer I got things under control.”

  J. C. walked over to where Justin stood, and they talked privately, shared a quick laugh, and shook hands. “I’ll keep Justin away for forty-eight hours,” J.C. said to her. “That’s about it. You’ll have to get a restraining order after that. Come on, Justin, get your stuff and move on.”

  Shannon thanked her fictitious attorney and ended the call. The two men picked up the clothes and dumped the load into the trunk of Justin’s car. J.C. waddled back to his cruiser, oozed his gut behind the steering wheel, and backed out of the driveway.

  Justin remained. “Your life is about to become a living hell. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  He blew her a kiss and climbed into his car.

  Shannon scratched behind Jasper’s ear and released a stream of breath as Justin followed the cruiser. She’d be foolish to take his threat lightly but short of barricading herself and Chad in the house, she didn’t have many options.

  As for Justin’s threat that her life was about to become a living hell… Well, there wasn’t much else he could do that was worse than what he’d already been doing.

  ******

  Periodic breezes offered brief respites from the remnants of the day’s heat. Parents sat on the bleachers in the waning sunlight and fanned themselves while their young children made valiant efforts to play baseball. Only two teams were partaking in the practice session: St. John’s and Arnie Chambers’. Neither team surpassed the other when it came time to catch, throw, field, or hit the ball, but they were neck and neck in their excitement about being on the baseball field. Unlike St. John’s coaching of even temperament and steady guidance, Chambers preferred the method called throwing his hat to the ground and yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs. During one such flare-up, St. John decided he’d had enough. He liked Arnie; he was a decent guy, but he needed to leave his frustrations at home.

  He walked over to the opposite side of the field.

  “What’s up, St. John?”

  Chambers didn’t look angry, but if body posture was a clue, the locked arms meant things might go badly.

  “Come on, Arnie, the kids should be having fun and all the yelling is upsetting them,” St. John said. From Chambers’ expression, St. John’s plea had fallen on cement ears. He would give him another minute and then drop the subject and find another coach for Arnie’s team. “Okay, I get it. No harm in trying.”

  “Hey, St. John, wait.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re right. I get so caught up in wanting them to win I forget they’re kids. I’m becoming my father, and I hate it.”

  St. John removed his cap and scratched his scalp. There were too many things to unpack in what he’d just heard, and he wasn’t a shrink. Both of their fathers had been pricks, but that’s just how the cards had been dealt. There was no use in crying about things they couldn’t change. Right now he had two goals: get through practice and find out why Shannon hadn’t arrived with Chad. Chambers would have to deal with his own crap.

  “Good, let’s give the kids some fun and have a mock game.”

  On the way back to his team, St. John scanned the bleachers. Shannon still hadn’t arrived. He’d tried to extract information from Chad, but after learning about a rock and a trophy, more kids arrived at the field, and Chad had become distracted. Denise and Peg’s heads were still locked together like a couple of lovers whispering sweet nothings to each other. Something was up, and he’d be a real asshole if Shannon had gotten hurt and he looked the other way. He was just being neighborly; he’d do the same for Denise or Peg.

  “Save it, St. John,” Dee told him. “Shannon’s business has nothing to do with you.”

  Practice was over. The kids had received their pep talk and were now standing in line at the ice cream truck. He had decided he needed to find out what was happening.

  He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it.”

  “Tell the truth, St. John. Why do you care about Shannon so much? It’s like you’re obsessed with her.”

  “I’m not obsessed with her. I’m just concerned, that’s all. For Christ sake, you make me sound like a stalker.”

  “Why the concern, then?”

  “Are you kidding me? I ask about your friend, someone you supposedly care about, may I remind you, and you turn it into an episode of America’s Most Wanted. You know what my father did to my mother? Do you want that to happen to Shannon? I can help.”

  He’d have to wait and see how it played out, but from the look on Denise’s face, she didn’t believe him. “You know what? Just forget about it,” he said.

  “Alright, I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell Shannon I did.”

  “I won’t,” he said, keeping his grin to himself. Thank God Denise loved to gossip.

  “All the locks…”

  As Dee relayed Shannon’s saga, the spot between St. John’s brows creased, the folds of skin deepening the more Dee spoke.

  “So, now you know. If you tell Shannon I—”

  “I said I wouldn’t,” he snapped. “Sorry. D
oes anybody know where Justin is?”

  “I have no idea, but I’m surprised he didn’t show up here and try and take Chad. I tell you, St. John, this divorce is going to get ugly if Shannon doesn’t stop it now. She’s not capable of standing on her own, and she’s going to get hurt. Chad too.”

  “I don’t think you know Shannon very well. She impresses me as a remarkably self-reliant woman.”

  Dee scoffed by issuing a loud chuckle. “There you go, thinking with your dick. Anyway, I told you everything. Now leave it alone. Peg and I will help her. You’ll only confuse her more.”

  Her comment puzzled him. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you’re a handsome man, and Shannon’s lonely. She might confuse sexual attraction with love, and you and I know how that will end.”

  “I think you’re inflating the effect I have on women. Anyway, I have no intention of confusing her; I just want to help.”

  Dee looked past him and called out to a group of boys. “I’m coming.” She finished with St. John by saying, “Shannon doesn’t need your help, and whatever happens to her is none of your business, so do me a favor and stay away from her, okay? I gotta go. I have to bring Chad home.”

  St. John placed one hand in the air and the other over his heart. “I swear on my Boy Scout’s honor, I’ll stay away from Shannon.”

  He pecked Dee’s cheek and sauntered away, his hands in his pockets.

  Too bad he’d never been a Boy Scout.

  Chapter 27

  “You cannot find peace by avoiding life.”

  Virginia Woolf

  Concentric layers of brick formed a paved patio located at the rear of the Baldos’ yard. Four cushioned wicker chairs hugged the centrally located fire pit. It was in one such chair that Shannon sat and studied the blaze before her.

  Flames licked along the oak logs, reaching swirling coils of blood-orange into the night sky. At her feet, on a red scarf, lay six white cloth pouches, each tied closed by a red ribbon; a porcelain cup; an apple; and her athame. At the side of her chair, she’d placed a bottle of bourbon, a hand towel, and the baby monitor she still used when Chad was asleep in the house while she was outside conducting magic. She’d already consecrated the sacred fire, called the four elements, and welcomed the goddess to her Litha celebration. All that remained of her midsummer’s ritual was to voice her intentions. Goddess willing, the Universe was paying attention.

  Holding the first pouch containing three leaves from the St. John’s Wort bush in her herb garden, she tossed the pouch into the flames and spoke clearly, directing the protection spell toward the fire. “By the power burning within this midsummer’s pyre, I call to thee; form a protection from those who wish to harm my son and me. So mote it be.”

  The next pouch contained lavender.

  “By the power burning within this midsummer’s pyre, I release thee; calmness and peace within my soul, I beckon you to bring me.”

  The pungent herb pierced the air.

  Mint followed with a spell for luck, then sage for the cleansing of her soul. The second to last pouch held petals from a starflower. Roman soldiers consumed the plant in preparation for battle, believing in its power to instill bravery in a person. Fingers crossed the legend of the flower’s powers was true.

  “By the power burning within this midsummer’s pyre, I call to thee, Jupiter; battles await me, and I ask that you arm me with the strength to be victorious. So mote it be.”

  The pouch hit the fire, and a rapid burst of energy shot upward in a shower of glowing sparks.

  With the last pouch opened on her lap, she used her athame and sliced into the apple, the juice running over her fingers. She scooped out five seeds and added them to the meadowsweet flower heads on the cloth and retied the ribbon, but she kept hold of the packet. At present, her life held no room for a third person. By opening the door with the love spell, she would make herself and Chad vulnerable all over again.

  She pressed the soft fabric. What was the harm in welcoming all possibilities? In the end, that’s what magic was all about—a willingness to allow all that could be to be.

  “By the power burning within this midsummer’s pyre, I release thee; return with the one who shall love Chad and me.” She quickly added, “But please make him kind…and safe…and gentle…and…and… Oh, screw it; bring me the one who will care for us and us him.”

  She tossed the bag, hoping to see more sparks. What she saw was the pouch on the log, the flames refusing to touch the sack. No smoke. No nothing.

  This type of thing had never happened before. Should she leave the pouch? Remove it? Throw bourbon on it? Maybe she needed to do some visualization to get it to catch. She closed her eyes and focused, finding herself once again on the porch of the quaint house, watching Chad playing in the yard with Jasper.

  The truck rolled to a stop.

  She accepted the truth of what she was seeing. Perhaps St. John was meant to be part of her and Chad’s journey. The aroma of pine and musk filtered into her brain, her name on his lips.

  “Shannon.”

  She opened her eyes in time to watch the enchanted pouch ignite into blue-and-green flames.

  “Shannon.”

  She turned her gaze to the right, got to her feet, and fell into his arms.

  Her savage hunger returned, and she opened her lips to grant his tongue entry. A different fire ignited and tore through her body, burning with the intensity of a thousand flames.

  St. John spoke, keeping their lips touching. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  She pushed him away and sat down. What difference did it make that she wanted him in her life? He didn’t want the same. “Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to see you.” He dragged over a nearby chair and settled himself before handing her a packet of sunflower seeds. “Happy Litha.” He bent and looked at the collection of items on the red cloth. “Is that your athame? Can you use any knife, or do you have to buy a special type?”

  She stared at him. “How do you know about Athames?”

  He returned to a relaxed position. “I figured if I’m going to be involved with a witch, I should learn about her ways and holidays. Oh, sorry, sabbats.”

  “I don’t understand.” Seriously, her thoughts were a tangled heap.

  “What’s not to understand?” He looked at her. “You’re Wiccan, and I wanted to know more.” He tenderly touched the skin above her lip. “This is from me, isn’t it?”

  She swatted his hand away. “What does that even mean? Involved?”

  A shrug served as his explanation. “What’s the bourbon for?”

  “You’re the one who did ‘research.’ You tell me.” Ouch. The sharp tone in her voice had been bad enough, but she hadn’t needed to add the air quotes.

  “Good thing I studied for this test. Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Fruited drinks are the more traditional offerings, but you’ll serve the goddess a cup of bourbon as refreshment. By the way—” He looked at the items spread on the scarf. “I don’t see any honey cakes. Did you forget to make them?”

  “I made honey-lavender biscotti.” She pursed her lips and studied the photograph on the seed packet. His gesture was so frigging sweet, and extremely confusing. For a man who ran from relationships, he seemed to be running in the wrong direction. “You should leave,” she said.

  “Not a very hospitable witch, are you? I was under the impression all were welcome at Litha celebrations.”

  She met his eyes, always a mistake because her will wasn’t her own. “I… Did you shave?”

  The grin of a rogue appeared, and he ran his fingers over his chin. “I noticed your skin looked raw yesterday and didn’t want to hurt you when we kissed.”

  “You are the cockiest bastard I’ve ever known.”

  He leaned her way and traced the line of her mouth, refueling the furnace under her skin.

  “An honor I’m proud to hold,” he said.

  He held her chin and retraced her lips with hi
s tongue, and drew her into his arms. The kiss was slow and deep and long, and her toes curled and her insides melted.

  When he finished, he said, “I’d like to hear what happened today, but, before you start, will your goddess mind if I have some bourbon? And may I have a biscotti? I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

  ******

  St. John chewed a cookie and sipped his bourbon while Shannon tended to Chad. He set his glass on the bricks and raised the baby monitor to his ear.

  “I want to have a fire, Mama,” Chad said.

  “Go back to sleep, sweetie. It’s late. Tomorrow night we’ll have a fire, and I’ll even get marshmallows for you to toast.”

  “But, Mama.”

  “No buts. Close those eyes and dream.”

  “Of running and playing?”

  “Yes, my love, of running and playing.”

  St. John returned the monitor to the concrete wall and rested his head against the chair cushion. He allowed the lullaby Shannon hummed to open his thoughts. Life presented chances, and if not taken, they passed by. Some were offered again, others were lost forever. Was he being given another chance? Was meeting Shannon an opportunity to finally get it right?

  He cared for her—that went without saying—and he enjoyed her. But love… He wasn’t capable of loving anyone, and would she even want him? He was damaged goods, beyond fixing. Even if she opened her life to him, he wouldn’t know how to begin. He’d be wise to say goodnight and return to his life and his rules.

  When she returned and sat down, he said, “I’m going to leave. Thank you for the food.”

  Shannon held onto his arm. “What’s going on, St. John? Why did you come over?”

  He found all he could do was chuckle.

  “I’m serious,” she insisted, her voice taking on a serious tone. “I deserve to know.”

  “I was concerned,” he answered.

  “About?”

  “You. Who else would I be concerned about if I’m sitting here, in your yard, with you?”

  “Why are you angry all of a sudden?”

  She removed his plate and stood.