Upon hearing her name, Bryar turned. The hog balls fell off the chops and landed in the floor. When the package hit the ground, the plastic wrap tore and some of the blood dribbled out, puddling on the cold, white tiles.
All three women looked down and watched as the blood ran straight to Liza’s shoe, forming a river around her sandals.
“Bryar,” Liza said quickly, “this is Irma Pigg. She works at the post office and drives the ice cream truck.”
Liza could tell that Bryar was taken by the bright orange lipstick Irma favored and by the faint mustache that shadowed her upper lip. Irma did have an unfortunate face, but her personality made up for whatever she was lacking in beauty. Irma crocheted blankets for the sick children who had to visit the emergency room, donated her holidays to helping out in the homeless shelter, and played Mrs. Claus each Christmas at the town Christmas tree lighting.
She could also tell a mean dirty joke.
Irma leaned in and wrapped her arm around Liza’s waist. “I just love this little girl,” she sighed. “She’s done some wonders for my back. And that lotion you sold me last week? My psoriasis has never looked or felt better!”
“I’m so glad,” Liza said sincerely. “You come back next week and we’ll work on those legs and varicose veins.”
The pool of blood now surrounded Liza’s foot, a little lake of crimson. When Bryar made no move to do anything about the mess she’d made, Irma finally looked at her pointedly. “Are you going to clean that up, dear?”
Bryar looked down at the ground and curled her lip in disgust. “Ew,” she replied. “It’s blood. I’ll just walk around it.”
“But what about everyone else?” Irma asked.
Liza shuddered inwardly and wracked her mind for a spell, any spell, that would get them all out of the awkwardness.
“They’ll see it, right? It’s not my job to clean it up,” Bryar declared, crossing her arms over her chest like a sullen teenager.
Visibly dismayed at Bryar’s attitude, Irma murmured goodbye and excused herself.
She wasn’t even out of earshot when Bryar rolled her eyes and laughed. “Pigg? Is that really her name? And did you see that mustache! I wasn’t even sure she was a woman at first!”
Liza closed her eyes when Irma paused, stiffened, then walked on.
“You could’ve waited until she couldn’t hear you,” Liza snarled.
Great, she thought, now there’s someone else I’ll have to apologize to.
To her credit, Bryar had the decency to look embarrassed. “Oh shit,” she moaned. “I didn’t know she could hear me. I’m sorry.”
Grabbing her sister, Liza began pulling her towards the front of the store. She kept her eyes peeled for a worker so that she could alert them of the growing mess in the back.
“And you could have gone to the bathroom and gotten something to clean that up with,” she snapped.
“But it’s not my job,” Bryar said, looking legitimately confused.
“Yeah, but that’s what people do around here. They clean up after themselves. They take care of their own crap.”
When she spotted a store employee she left her sister’s side to inform him of the spill. Returning to Bryar Rose, Liza barked again. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Sorry,” Bryar mumbled, her face turning beet red. “I’m sorry.”
They left the store after paying, neither one looking at the other.
Liza Jane wondered if that’s what it was like to go shopping with a toddler.
* * *
“WELL, OF COURSE it’s always good to see you,” Whinny said with a smile as she let Liza in through her kitchen door. “You don’t need an invitation.”
“Well, I hate to barge in on you like this, but I did come bearing gifts,” Liza apologized. She handed Colt’s mother a basket of candles. “Sampler that came in the mail today.”
“Yummy!”
Liza Jane’s sense of smell was stronger than any other sense. And, since she was a child, she’d always associated colors with the aromas she picked up.
Whinny’s kitchen was bright yellow, despite the shades of teal and green it was decorated in. She could almost taste the yellow–the stinging tartness of it, mixed with a sweet aftertaste that reminded her of Pixie Sticks.
“I’m having some family trouble and I don’t really have anyone to talk about it with,” Liza began as she pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat. “I’d call my mother but…”
Whinny nodded in understanding. She’d attended school with Mabel herself; Liza didn’t have to explain. Mabel might have been a beautiful, vivacious woman who’d been one of the most popular girls in her class, but she’d always been wrapped up in herself and watched out for her own interests, regardless of the cost. That had worsened with age, not improved. She’d been voted “Most Likely to Break up a Rock Band.”
“Bryar Rose and I are having trouble getting along. I want to help her but she’s such a…”
“Nuisance?” Whinny prodded gently.
“Witch,” Liza grinned.
Whinny laughed. “It’s hard for girls to get along all the time, especially when they’re sisters. I should know–look how many I have. Hardly had a day’s worth of trouble since Colt was born. The girls, though, they keep me on my toes.”
“She’s turned into a real snob,” Liza complained. “She’s going around insulting people, being rude, and embarrassing me. I haven’t been here that long, you know? I don’t want to ruin things that fast.”
“Have you tried talking about this with her?”
Liza sighed, remembering the argument that had ensued upon leaving the grocery store. “It’s like arguing with a puppy,” she replied. “She’s got a lot of bite while she’s being a pain in the ass but then, when you call her out on it, she acts wounded. You can’t talk to her.”
“I imagine she’s in a tough place right now,” Whinny said. “I don’t know how I would handle it if something like that happened to me. I mean, on national television no less.”
“I know, I know. I keep trying to remind myself of that,” Liza agreed grudgingly.
“Plus, she doesn’t want to be here,” Whinny added. “She didn’t choose to come here because she loves it, like you did. She came here because she felt like she didn’t have any other choice or any other place to go. That’s different. It might have something to do with her animosity towards it.”
Liza hadn’t thought about that. “Well, shit.”
Whinny laughed again, her eyes lighting up and crinkling around the edges. She looked so much like Colt when she smiled. And Liza was missing her boyfriend. She’d barely seen him since Bryar arrived.
“I wish I could just wave my wand and make it all better for her,” Liza sighed. “I tried that. It didn’t make her any less grouchy but it did perk up my African Violet. I want her to be happy.”
“Why don’t you take a minute and think about one thing that Bryar has done that’s made you happy,” Whinny suggested.
Liza took a minute and mulled that idea over in her mind. There were quite a few happy childhood memories she had of her sister. They’d never been real close, but had gotten along for the most part. But those memories were old. She needed something more recent.
“My husband,” Liza said at last. “I mean, my ex-husband. When he left me I was a wreck. I moved out to this crummy little apartment. It was truly terrible. I don’t even know why I stuck around there. It was pointless. I guess a big part of me didn’t want to get too far away in case, you know, he wanted me back. I wanted him to be able to find me.”
She felt pathetic saying that now, but it was true.
Whinny nodded in non-judgmental understanding.
“I’d lost most of my friends. They all stuck with Mode. I didn’t realize just how alone I truly was until I’d gone around three weeks without talking to a single person other than the drive-through window girl at McDonald’s. Then, one night, Bryar Rose just showed up out of nowh
ere. She’d come all the way from Manhattan. Just showed up at my door with a chocolate cake, a bottle of wine, and a stack of adult movies.”
Liza reddened at the last part, but Whinny laughed.
“I mean, it’s not like I always sit around watching porn, you know, but it was so absurd that it was exactly what I needed. I’d barely gotten out of bed for a week. I smelled. Like, I stunk. And I was covered in tissues from where I’d been crying. They were actually sticking to me.”
She shuddered now at the memory, embarrassed she’d let herself sink so far and over Mode, no less.
“But Bryar didn’t even let the lock stop her. She unlatched it faster than she could have done it with a key and marched right in. Popped the movie in, found two clean forks in the kitchen, and crawled up in bed with me. We spent all night eating cake right out of the box, drinking wine straight from the bottle, and watching those movies. We ended up muting them and making up our own dialogue. It was one of the best nights I’ve ever had,” Liza admitted, smiling at the memory.
Whinny leaned over and touched Liza’s hand. “When things get really bad, remember that. When you want to slap her into next Tuesday, remember that night. And if that doesn’t work, I strongly encourage bringing back that bottle of wine.”
* * *
LIZA JANE TIPTOED into the house, two bottles of Boone tucked under her arm.
The living room was dark. So was the kitchen and the small parlor that she’d turned into a sewing room. (Not that she could sew well, mind you, but she was really into Pinterest at the moment and half the stuff she’d pinned involved needles–of the sewing kind, not of the heroin kind.)
It was only 9:30 pm. She knew Bryar Rose kept later hours than that.
“Eh, maybe she bitched herself to sleep early tonight,” Liza told the grandfather clock with a chuckle as she slunk up the stairs.
When she got to the top, however, she saw the pale ray of light shining from under Bryar’s door.
“Bryar, you up?” she asked, tapping softly on the door.
When she heard the muffled reply coming from the other side, she gently pushed on the door with her foot and let herself in.
Her sister was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a stack of country music magazines behind her. The boom box, a leftover relic from their childhood, softly played the radio on the floor beside her. Liza was surprised to hear the twang of Hank Williams Sr. coming from it.
She was actually shocked as hell that Bryar was able to find a station that played Hank Williams.
“What’s up?” she asked as she lowered herself to the foot of the bed, carefully balancing the bottles of Boone in her lap.
With her face scrubbed clear of makeup, her hair swept up in a messy bun, and flannel pajamas Bryar Rose looked less New York City mover and shaker and more like the pre-teen girl who had once sneaked down to the kitchen and consumed an entire batch of raw cookie dough when she was ten.
Bryar exhaled loudly then tossed the magazine to the side. It landed on the hardwood floor, Dwight Yoakam’s face peeking up at Liza Jane from under a white cowboy hat.
“I was trying to remember a time when I really loved music. Not just liked, but loved it,” she said.
“You were always the musical one,” Liza agreed. “You were like a Scheherazade of song lyrics.”
“So much of what I do these days is about the money. The art of it has been completely lost,” Bryar complained.
“You sound so…”
“Pretentious?” Bryar finished for her. “Yeah, I know. The art, the art!”
Both women laughed. Liza chose that moment to share her finds.
“Look, it’s not much, and I had to drive to the next county over to buy it, but I thought we could use this,” she said, producing a bottle. “Boone Farm’s finest.”
“Dang Liza,” Bryar whistled. “That stuff will tear our stomachs up.”
“I know it’s not Cristal but it should give us a nice buzz,” Liza continued as though Bryar hadn’t said a word. “And, to class it up, I brought cups.”
Bryar laughed. “Christmas themed. How festive!”
“I thought you’d appreciate that. So, what do you say?”
“Why the hell not?”
An hour later, both women were stretched out on the bed, glasses balanced precariously on the stack of magazines between them. The room was spinning for Liza; she didn’t even notice.
“So I was reading the paper today,” Bryar said.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t get it. I mean, I keep hearing about all the drug problems this place has but all the arrests in the paper just say the person had one pill or two pills on them. That’s not exactly drug smuggling, you know?”
Liza laughed. “I’ve said the same thing. Remember when Mom had that knee surgery? Afterwards she’d give anyone who needed it one of her pain pills. She just figured she was helping out, saving them a trip to the doctor.”
“And this other thing that bothers me,” Bryar continued, “is the suicide thing. Why, under ‘arrests’ does it say things like ‘Officer Clark arrested Jane Stumbo for threatening her own life’? I mean, if someone is mentally ill and needs help then why are they listed in the same section as the guy who was picked up for robbing the television repair place?”
Liza mulled this over in her head. She’d never given that any thought before. Now, with the booze making her feel more philosophical than usual, she replied, “I don’t know, dude. It’s like they just don’t care, man. Someone should write a letter. To…to…someone.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch,” Bryar sang. With a kick of her foot she sent her house shoe flying into the air. It soared across the room and landed on an ancient bottle of perfume. “Oopsie.”
“You got mean,” Liza agreed companionably. Doing her best not to rock the boat, she raised up and focused on pouring herself another glass. When the liquid spilled over the top and dampened the raised snowman etched into the glass, she giggled.
“I know,” Bryar replied mournfully. “I did. I suck.”
“A little, yeah,” Liza said. “So what’s wrong with you?”
“I’m bored,” Bryar moaned.
“It’s not that bad here,” Liza grumbled. “I find stuff to do.”
“Not here, but in life in general,” Bryar explained. With a wave of her hand she lifted the house shoe up into the air. Liza watched as it wavered a moment, about four feet off the ground. Not to be outdone, Liza focused her energy on a nearby sock. When it joined the shoe in the air, they began spinning around one another in a mad, frenzied dance.
Liza fell back on the bed and laughed hysterically. The sock and shoe dropped to the ground with soft thuds.
“Why can’t I do that when I’m cleaning the house?” Liza gasped. “Or when I’m sober?”
“Because this thing we were born with is totally useless,” Bryar moaned. “Totally.”
“So if you’re so bored why don’t you do something else?”
“I don’t know? I don’t know,” Bryar replied more firmly. “I wish I could!”
“Are you really into country music all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know,” Bryar said. “I can’t remember what I like. I don’t like country but I can’t remember if I really don’t like it or if I don’t like it because I’m not supposed to.”
“Because it’s not cool?” Liza let out a loud belch that echoed in the room. “Whoopsie. Sorry.”
“I guess so.”
“Country music is better when you’re in love,” Liza said dreamily. The room really was spinning now, and she was feeling the effects of it.
“Are you?” Bryar asked in surprise. “In love, I mean.”
Liza raised up again, the wine in her glass sloshing over the side. Bryar gently removed it from her hand and placed it on the nightstand.
“I think I am,” Liza replied with a big, goofy grin. “And not just with Colt. I love his whole fam damily.”
“That’
s nice,” Bryar said. Even in her drunken state, Liza thought she denoted a touch of sadness in her voice.
“Hey, you have to help me with this festival stuff,” Liza said at last. She rose to her feet and wobbled a bit, trying to steady herself by clutching the bed post.
“I was trying earlier,” Bryar complained. She was starting to look a little green.
“No, I mean really help. It can be a sisters’ project, just me and you. Like the old days!”
“We never worked together in the old days,” Bryar pointed out.
Liza pursed her lips and frowned. Maybe she was thinking of “The Gilmore Girls”. “Okay then,” she said, plastering a big, sunny smile on her face. “Then we try something new. A Liza Jane and Bryar Rose production. The best festival the town has ever seen!”
Bryar frowned, looking far too sober for Liza Jane’s liking. “I don’t know. I really just need to get myself together and get back home before people forget who I am.”
“C’mon, you said you were bored.”
Bryar appeared to mull it over and then sighed. “Okay, whatever. We’ll do it together.”
Liza clapped her hands and swayed. “Oh, wait,” she cried. “Hand me my glass again.”
When she had it in her hand she raised it up in the air. “To the best festival ever!”
Bryar raised hers and smirked. “To Liza and Bryar. To the witches.”
Chapter Nine
“Liza Jane, you have to help me!”
Liza was standing near the big antique mirror she’d hung in the shop, trying to pin her hair up in a bun she’d seen on Pinterest. The video had made it look so easy. Liza had managed to poke herself in the eye three times.
“What’s the matter, May?”
The twenty-something young woman who stood before her was strikingly pretty. A svelte brunette with a tiny waist, All-American good looks, and a bubbly personality, May was one of the most popular young women in town. She was also happily married to her high school sweetheart.
“My mom is super sick. I mean, like, they have her in the hospital,” she said in a rush. May’s mother was Gwen from the The Tasty Bite. From her flushed cheeks and the sweat dripping down her face, May looked as though she’d just ran all the way from the restaurant.
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