Still, his ideas never wavered. Two years later he asked her to move her altar out of their bedroom and into another room of the house. He claimed it was for the sake of “space” but she’d read him like a book. It was easy to do it by then. She only had to lightly press her thumbs together. She’d pressed them on his temples once, and then on his third eye, and they’d been connected ever since and would be forever.
Until she ended it.
“Well, shit,” she sighed, looking around her living room again.
Her face cooled just a fraction and she closed her eyes to gather herself together again. She was angry at herself, angry for allowing him into this space, for making her angry here. Somewhere that had nothing to do with him. This space was meant to be hers and she’d all but invited him inside and asked him to throw darts at her.
It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t her life be fair for a change? She’d given up years of it for his career. She’d helped put him through that last year of school, the year his parents died and their account (and subsequently his college funding) had been frozen.
She’d dropped out herself to work two jobs so that he could start his business and had then traveled all over the world with him so that he could work with the pop opera group and feel “fulfilled.” She had put off having children because he wasn’t ready, let her massage license expire so that he could have someone at home, kept the house clean, hired the maintenance workers, kept his records and balanced the checkbook, hid her magic and–
Liza, in the midst of her depressing and angry march down Memory Lane had not counted on the fact that the house could read her thoughts. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Before she’d finished her last thought, two things happened at once:
The front door swung open from the pressure of a hearty knock…
And two of the foreign Coca-Cola bottles sailed off the shelf on the other side of the room, hovered dramatically in the air before proceeding to spin around uncontrollably, and then crashed to the ground, showering the living room with a thousand glittery shards of glass.
Liza, hand covering her mouth in embarrassment, was left staring at her visitor in shock.
“Um, hi?”
The curly-haired brunette holding a corning ware dish covered in aluminum foil gave her a baffled grin. “I’m your neighbor from the next farm over. Um, welcome to Kudzu Valley?”
Chapter Three
STILL EMBARASSED at her emotional display back at the house, Liza stomped through the library’s double doors and exhaled loudly. Several people sitting in rocking chairs grouped together around the magazine stand glanced up at her from their periodicals, disgruntled.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
It was obvious to Liza that Jessie Shelby, twentysomething housewife and casserole making extraordinaire, had tried to ignore the fact that she’d just seen her new neighbor make glass bottles dance around in the air and then crash to the floor using nothing but her mind. She’d chatted casually about the weather, asked about her mother, mentioned the new coffee shop going in downtown and had politely inquired about Liza’s business venture.
In the end, though, after she’d patiently followed her into the kitchen and watched Liza place the broccoli and cheese casserole (topped with crumbled potato chips) in her refrigerator, Jessie just couldn’t help herself.
“Did I just see you–“
Liza had mumbled some unintelligible reply without turning around but Jessie accepted the answer for what it was–confirmation. She knew better than to lie, although her younger self might have made something up to change the subject.
Jessie waited a beat and then continued her line of questioning. “Does that mean you’re a–“
“Yes.”
The awkward silence that followed was only interrupted by the old-fashioned clock on the wall, ticking away the minutes that seemed to stretch on forever. Liza continued to root around in the refrigerator while the other woman studied her from behind. She could all but feel the questions building in Jessie’s mind, but a combination of fear and southern respect kept them at bay.
Liza sighed inside, disappointed in herself for making the other woman uncomfortable. She wasn’t ashamed of being a witch, she’d never hurt anyone on purpose, and she’d just moved from an area that actually focused part of its tourism campaign on witchcraft. But the words her mother had told her the morning she set out for Kentucky still rang in her ear.
“Don’t be talking about any of that stuff you can do,” Mabel had warned her. “You just don’t know how people are going to react and you don’t need them mistreating you. Or worse.”
“Oh, Mother. It’s not like they’re going to burn me at the stake. Besides, I don’t just go around bragging about it or wearing a T-shirt. And anyway, Nana Bud was a witch,” Liza had pointed out, feeling both small and defensive.
Mabel had let that one pass. “And she kept it quiet, too. Didn’t go blabbing her mouth about it to everyone. Just do what you want, you always do, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
She was used to her mother’s heightened paranoia about the people around her. Mabel was always convinced people were talking about her and excluding her from things with malicious intent. If Mode hadn’t said something along the same vein, she might have just ignored her. But he’d also sent out a warning.
“Don’t talk about witches while you’re there!” his text had read.
Liza had been confused about the “while you’re there” part. He still didn’t believe she was going there to stay. But his words, coupled with her mother’s, had made her nervous. She was in a politically conservative area. What if they mistook her for a devil worshipper or something?
Still, she wasn’t going to hide it anymore. She hadn’t practiced, not really, in years. And that had been hurtful, wounding to hide that part of her away. She liked her abilities, she enjoyed having powers, and she hated having to pretend to be something she wasn’t.
No, if she was going to get off on the right foot in Kudzu Valley, she was going to have to be honest, even if it made both of them uncomfortable.
At last, Liza had turned around and studied the young woman standing before her. She was a perky little thing with beautiful curly hair and big green eyes. At the grocery store Liza had been surprised to see so many people wearing flannel pajama pants that dragged to the floor, their edges brown and frayed from the ground. She’d never seen such a thing before and it had taken her aback, making her wonder if that was the popular women’s style in Kudzu Valley. (If so, she was out of luck. She wanted to fit in, but no way was she giving up her clothes.)
So now, as she took another look at her young neighbor, Liza felt a certain amount of respect for the woman’s stain-free khaki pants, wrinkle-free pullover, and black pea coat. She wore little ladybugs at her ears and a matching necklace.
“It’s a family thing,” she’d explained to Jessie. “Kind of a legacy I guess you could call it; it’s just something that’s been passed down over the years. My grandmother was the same way, and my sister is in her own way, but they could always control themselves better. Sometimes I just let my temper get the best of me. I was thinking about something I really shouldn’t have been and it just kind of…happened.”
“Huh,” Jessie had replied.
Liza couldn’t judge the blank look on her face and felt it rude to violate her thoughts at their first meeting.
“I guess it’s not that different than having a musician for a parent or an artist,” she’d said, “and then getting some of that ability yourself. We’re all different. I can’t do all the things that my grandmother did and my sister can’t do the things I do. But we all have a part of it.”
Jessie nodded then, and didn’t appear to be particularly shocked. “Yeah, people talked about Rosebud sometimes. I only seen her out in the garden when we rode our horses up here. She was always real nice. Others, though, they’d come up here when their kids were sick or they had some kind of problem that doctors or
church couldn’t fix.”
Liza smiled. “She enjoyed getting company up here. I think she regretted not having a bigger family. She always liked taking care of people.”
“My mom brought me up when I was eight. I kept getting these ear infections. Went up to Lexington and had saw a specialist. Had surgery and tubes and everything. Nothing helped. I’d wake everyone in the house up in the middle of the night just hollerin’ my head off,” Jessie laughed. “Drove everybody crazy. But my daddy brung me up here to see her. Said she was probably the only one who could help me. She sat down there in a rocking chair in the living room and pulled me up on her lap. I reckon I was four, maybe five. Anyway, Bud lit up a cigarette, brought her head close to mine, and blew smoke right in my ears. They never bothered me again.”
Liza’s nose began to twitch, a warning that her eyes might start to fill next. “She did that to me once, too. It was the only time I ever saw her smoke. She was a healer. That was one of her biggest strengths. I’m not that good, but I do it as well. I’m actually opening up a business downtown. I’ll be helping people find natural remedies to things and giving massages and spa treatments. Would you like to go sit down in the living room?”
At first Liza had been a little uncomfortable at the idea of a stranger just showing up on her doorstep without an invitation and inviting themselves inside. But that had worn off soon enough.
The two women had spent an enjoyable hour talking about the town and changes it had seen since Liza and her family left. They’d laughed quite a few times, seemed to share similar interests in music and movies (Jessie loved Jason Aldean but her husband called him “crap” and had refused to go his concert with her when he came to Rupp Arena in Lexington so Jessie had gone alone).
But even throughout the visit, Liza still got the distinct feeling that Jessie wasn’t entirely comfortable. She could sometimes all but feel the other woman’s nervousness and apprehension. Liza watched her as Jessie’s eyes darted around the room, often landing on the bottles and studying them intently, as though just waiting for the moment when one would fly off the shelf and at her head. When Liza offered her a drink, Jessie had jumped up and offered to get it herself, overly eager to be accommodating.
Liza knew from experience that the apprehension would fade over time, but for some people it was never going to be possible for them to feel relaxed with their guard down when they were sitting in front of a person they thought could curse them for no other reason than they felt like it.
Still, Liza liked her new neighbor and hoped they could be friends. God, she needed friends. And she didn’t think Jessie would be leading the rest of the townspeople with pitchforks any time soon, so that was something.
***
There wasn’t much reading material in Liza Jane’s house. Her grandparents’ eyesight had gone bad way before she came along and the only reading material she’d found so far was a whole stack of Jackie Collins’ novels and a TV Guide from 1993. Oddly enough, given how things eventually re-gained popularity, she could still find The Facts of Life, Designing Women, and Dallas on TV even now…the times were a little off, though.
The county library was contained in a single room that was only slightly bigger than her downstairs area. A block of computers were set up against a wall. There were eight seats in total, filled with men and women of various ages, all pecking quietly away at the keys.
A sign above the row of computers read:
For official use ONLY. Only job hunting and bill paying. NO games or social media!!!!!!
Liza paused to appreciate the irony that all but one of them were currently scrolling through their Facebook newsfeeds.
“Hi,” she began in a quiet, but what she hoped was a friendly, voice as she approached the desk. “I need to see about getting a library card.”
The middle-aged man on the other side of the desk looked up from a Styrofoam container containing what smelled like fried fish. He finished chewing, for which Liza was grateful, and studied Liza Jane with interest. His nametag read: Cotton Hashagen. He was hefty with shockingly red hair, huge front teeth, and a tie-dye sweatshirt with a picture of a chubby pig. The shirt read “Bobbie’s Buffet Barn: Don’t Stop ‘til You’re Happy as a Pig.”
It listed a Kudzu Valley address.
Liza immediately thought of all the jokes comparing buffets to troughs and wondered if the owner had even considered that when naming their restaurant after a structure that housed farm animals.
Who was she kidding? That’s probably why he’d done it.
“Can I see a photo ID?” Cotton finally asked as he deftly wiped his big, meaty hands on a tiny napkin and then daintily dabbed at his mouth.
Liza poked through the knock-off Coach bag she’d bought from a street vendor in Boston while Cotton sat by and watched her, occasionally huffing with impatience. “Here you go,” Liza declared at last, sliding the card across the desk. She watched as the man glanced at it, brought it closer to his glasses, and frowned.
“Oh, I know,” Liza said in a hurry, leaning over the desk and pointing at her picture. “I had black hair back then. I had that done back over the summer when I was going through my divorce. Got a tattoo, too. Cheaper than therapy,” Liza joked.
Cotton did not look amused so Liza slowly let her own smile fade. “I’m back to my original red now. I promise that’s really me, though.”
Like he hadn’t even heard her, Cotton held the card up to the light and examined it from all angles, as though trying to determine if it was counterfeit.
Yeah man, Liza said to herself. Because there’s obviously a lot of people who want to open fake library card accounts. It must be your biggest percentage of crimes here.
She plastered the friendly, polite smile back on her face, though, and reminded herself that she was in a public place and not everyone appreciated snark. Still, she’d kind of thought that small town places would be a lot friendlier than their Big City counterparts. So far Cotton was not rolling out the welcome wagon.
“It’s just that your address here says Massachusetts,” Cotton replied sternly. He sent Liza a hard, withered look then, as though trying to determine what kind of scam she might be trying to run on the county.
“Yeah, well, I just moved back here,” Liza explained. “I’ve only been here a few days so far and I am still trying to settle in and everything.”
Cotton narrowed his eyes until they were thin little slits. “Do you have anything with your local address? A utility bill? Renter’s contract? Cable bill?”
“I own my house,” Liza said in return. “My grandparents left it to me.” She had no idea why but now she was slightly miffed that the man would assume she was renting, although she wasn’t sure why that would bother her. She’d been a renter until they’d bought their house and, up until recently, she’d been renting her condo.
“Well, I’m sorry but I just can’t issue one without at least a photo ID with a local address,” the insufferable man sniffed self-righteously, handing Liza back her card. Liza felt like she’d just been called out at the video store for trying to rent porn with a fake ID.
However, Liza Jane knew the surly librarian wasn’t being honest with her as soon as their fingers touched. In a single meeting of skin, Liza was able to read his mind like a book, no pun intended.
She could feel the aggravation in her growing as she pulled herself to her full height and let her eyes bore into him. “Well that’s not true, is it?” she asked, hardly recognizing her own steely voice. “There are things you can do for me today. For one thing, you can offer me a temporary card for thirty days, until I get my new license. I just have to leave a credit card number with you.”
Lightning flashed through Cotton’s eyes. “No ma’am,” he sputtered, his face growing hard and her fingers tapping nervously on his desk. “We don’t do that here. Now you’ll just have to come back later. I can’t do a single thing to help you.”
Liza didn’t know why this man was being so difficult and
the simple act of checking out a book from the library so challenging. It was a library, for crying out loud. She was paying taxes there now, shouldn’t she be allowed to check out books?
Furthermore, Liza couldn’t figure out why the whole thing was making her so enraged, but she suddenly found herself more than mad–she was livid. This day had not gone as planned.
As Liza stood there and seethed inwardly, Cotton picked up a silver container, and took a sip from it, and then went back to his fish. It was clear that he was over Liza and had no intentions of continuing the conversation.
“Look Mary Elizabeth,” Liza hissed, wanting to get her point across but still trying to remember the library manners and rules that had been ingrained within her since childhood.
Cotton looked up, a piece of white fish meat stuck to his bottom lip. “My name’s not Mary Elizabeth,” he said with a scowl. “My name is–“
“I know what your name is,” Liza snapped. “It’s from a book. Now you and I both know you can help me. For one thing, I know you did it for that man over there.”
Liza gestured towards the row of computers where a portly man in a Cincinnati Bengals cap typed happily away on Facebook Chat. “You gave Eddy there a temporary pass and he’s just here in town for railroad business. He doesn’t live here at all; he’s only going to be here for two weeks.”
Cotton’s eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open as he quickly looked first at Eddy and then at Liza Jane. “Well I. How did you–“
Liza knew she should just let it go and go back another day but she’d taken it that far already. Might as well go the rest. “I don’t know why you don’t want to help me but I do know you have those contracts behind you in the top drawer of that black filing cabinet. It would only take a second, you’d be doing the right thing, and that would be the end of that. Do you really want me to call Phyllis?”
Phyllis, as Liza Jane shouldn’t have known since that was the first time she’d ever been in the library, was the head librarian.
A Broom With a View Page 4