He was about to say it when she spoke. “This isn’t Marla. And Paula isn’t here. She’s been—” The line crackled, the signal breaking up. “—detai—can’t—”
“The connection is bad,” he yelled. “Where’s Paula?”
He waited, but there was only crackling on the line. “Paula?”
“—not here—”
“Where is she?” he shouted again. There was static and then what sounded like a laugh. The phone beeped twice. He checked the bars; the display blinked SIGNAL DROPPED, SIGNAL DROPPED. Disgusted, he shut the phone and stood indecisively for a minute. Then he ran to the stairs, taking the first one on the fly.
There was a second when it passed through his mind, Stairs are slippery. Why did I use the glossy varnish? Then he pitched forward, all two hundred pounds of him barrelling down, his ankle striking the edge of the step and sliding off at an angle. The crack was so loud, so alarming, that even as he screamed in pain he knew exactly what had happened.
The phone went flying out of his hand, disappearing into space.
There was a pregnant moment of silence after Sanderson hit the landing at the bottom of the stairs, the wind knocked out of him. The dogs came running, a frantic Gusto getting in his face. Sanderson had to push him away, but he and Old Tex continued to hover like a couple of old ladies. It would almost be comical, except for the pain. And then he remembered Rowan in the bathroom. Oh God, where is Paula?
At the moment Sanderson Keyes broke his ankle, Paula was being poured a second glass of wine by Ursula, who seemed to be the waitress for the evening. Thinking of her in those terms made Paula grin, and she wondered a little at herself. Why so easily amused? She did feel funny. Was wine more potent than beer? It had not improved the evening.
Joanna was leaning close, explaining how she had got where she was. “When you’re a little girl, you think you’re going to grow up to be someone. We all think we’re going to be someone, you know? And I was, in a limited way. I was … someone. But you want more. You always want more, right?”
Paula had a feeling that her version of more would be different from Joanna Shaw’s. But she nodded.
Joanna said, “Exactly. So you do what you have to do. You find a way.” This seemed to be the point she wanted to make, because then she leaned back against the sofa where Bridget had been sitting—where had Bridget gone?—and said nothing more.
“What our resident celebrity means,” Esme added, “is that we want what we want. And we do what we have to do to get it. Do you understand, Paula?”
She felt as if she was the target of a hard sell of some kind. Like when a vacuum cleaner salesman comes to your door and won’t leave until you agree, “Yes, I like my house to be clean.” She tried to focus on the question, but the sound of the women’s voices was all she could take in.
“Where did you say your girl was?” Bridget asked.
“Sanderson’s.” To say the name was pleasing to her. Sanderson. It felt nice to say it, to think it. She repeated it in her head. She wondered if she was drunk.
“I would do anything for my children,” Glory said. Esme looked sharply at her.
“Of course,” Paula agreed.
“Children aren’t everything,” Esme said.
“I have a little brother,” Sharie offered. No one responded.
Ursula poured more wine. “You’re the waitress tonight,” Paula said, smiling gently at her. “I was a waitress. In a bar. A terrible bar.” She cupped her mouth with a hand and whispered confidentially, “A stripper bar.” The women tittered.
“What would you give to never have to work in a stripper bar again?” Bridget asked.
“It’s not so bad,” she said. Defensively this time.
Bridget smiled winningly at her. “But if you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to. You can join us.”
Paula picked up the wineglass that Ursula had refilled and held it to her lips. Then she thought better of it and set it down. She was feeling … funny. She’d been drunk a time or two in her life, and this was like it, but different. Her body felt tired, loose. Her tongue seemed too big for her mouth. But she didn’t have a drunk feeling.
“Drink up,” Esme said. “Who is this Sanderson? Is he your boyfriend?”
Sanderson. She smiled in spite of herself. “No,” she said, embarrassed, her face flushed. From wine.
“Oooh, yes he is, I bet,” Sharie said. “I like a guy at dance class. He’s very tall. I like tall men. Is your boyfriend tall?”
Esme snapped, “Nobody cares, child.”
Sharie shut up.
“So where does he live?” Esme pressed. “Near your mom’s?”
“Esme, we were talking about Paula,” Bridget said, shooting her a look. Paula saw it. These women are strange, she thought again. The conversations were hard to follow.
“She’s going to join us,” Bridget said. She squeezed in between Paula and the glassy-eyed Joanna. Joanna shifted lazily, but didn’t get up.
“Join you?” Paula said.
“You can have everything you’ve ever wanted,” Bridget said. “It’s simple, really. Don’t you want your life to be perfect?”
Paula thought, What do I have to buy? But she said, “Where is Marla? I should go, but I would like to say hello to her before I do.”
“Don’t go,” Ursula said, with force.
“I’m here, Paula. Please don’t go yet.”
She turned and there was Marla, silhouetted in the candlelight. She too wore black. She looked slender and perfect, her hair falling softly over her shoulders. She came close and took Paula’s hands in hers. “I was with my children. They’re not feeling well, but I suspect they’ll feel better soon.” There were dark rings under her eyes.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry for my absence. I’m so glad you came.” It sounded rote. Like something you’d say to a stranger. It occurred to Paula that she was a stranger, and then, out of nowhere, she remembered that she had something to tell.
“I’ve got something I want to talk to you about,” she said to Marla. But there were too many eyes looking at her. She couldn’t do it now.
“I want to hear it,” Marla said.
Esme got up so Marla could sit beside her girlhood friend.
“Paula, my children are sick.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Rowan didn’t feel well tonight—”
Marla cut her off. “Can you help me with my children?”
“Of course,” Paula said, confused. “What can I do?”
“All you have to do is join us.”
The room fell dead silent. Marla was still holding Paula’s hands. It was uncomfortable, but it was Marla, so she didn’t pull away.
“Your poor mother has been sick too,” Marla said. “And Bridget and Ursula have had business problems. You haven’t met Aggie, yet, but she’s an old, old woman now and she’ll die if you don’t help us. Even Sharie—her leg has swelled right up, like a melon.” Sharie held her leg out awkwardly. It looked painful.
“It’s bad times for us right now.” Marla pressed Paula’s fingers, ready to say her next bit, but instead she sighed. Her eyes dropped from Paula’s and she turned away.
Esme said, “Marla?”
“Be quiet for a moment,” Marla said. “I’m thinking.” She looked around the room. “Where’s Rowan? Is she watching TV?”
“Rowan isn’t here,” Glory deadpanned from a chair.
Marla looked at Paula. “You didn’t bring her?”
Paula shook her head. “She wasn’t feeling well. What’s this about my mother? What does she have to do with this?”
“Oh,” Marla said. She seemed to ponder that.
“My mother, Marla. What about her?”
Esme poked Marla in the side. “Quit thinking so much. Find out where Rowan is, and let’s get on with things.”
Marla turned back to Paula and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She closed it again.
“What’s going on, Mars?” Paula said.
As if the childhood nickname had upset her, Marla let go of Paula’s hands and shook her head.
Esme groaned. “Marla, get out of the way.”
Marla stood. To the room she said, “I’m sorry, I’m just so tired. The kids haven’t been … right.” She tried to smile.
Esme sat down where Marla had been. “Paula, all you have to do is join us. We’re like a club. A women’s club. It’s no big deal. You simply join and then you’ll have everything you want. Everyone will be fine. Your mother will be fine. Just nod.”
Paula was watching Marla, who was backing away from them all. “Mars? Are you okay?”
“Paula, you’ve got to concentrate,” Esme butted in. “We know all about your life in the city—it’s shit. Room for improvement! We’re proposing that you join us as we are, and then your life will be better. Okay? Done. There, now let’s get going.” She stood, yanking Paula to her feet. Paula squealed at the suddenness of it. So did several of the women.
“Join you in what? What are you?” Her thoughts felt fat and sluggish.
“Honey, it rhymes with bitch,” Esme said. There were surprised snickers from the others.
“Huh?” Paula was trapped between Esme, the sofa and the table.
“Well, what rhymes with bitch? Let’s see.” Esme pretended to ponder this as she held Paula upright. “Ditch. Kitsch. Pitch.” She grinned with those unnaturally white teeth. “Rich. Switch. What else, Paula?”
Paula’s mind was too slow for this. She shook her head.
Glory yelled, “Witch!”
Everyone erupted into laughter. Paula looked around at Marla, who wasn’t laughing.
“Witch?” she said, uncomprehendingly.
Esme nodded. “That’s right—witch. It’s no big deal. You don’t have to grow a wart or anything. You just have to come with us.”
“And tell us where we can pick up the kid,” Bridget said, close to Paula’s ear.
Esme patted her on the back and then smoothed Paula’s hair off her shoulder. “It’ll be great. You’ll love it. Your hair will be thicker, your skin so clear and smooth.”
Bridget grinned. “You’ll tan without burning, and your whites will be whiter without bleach.”
Esme slipped a hand under Paula’s jacket and ran it delicately over her too-soft belly. “This will go away. And your mother’s punishment will be over. Don’t you want that?”
“What has this got to do with my mother?” Paula tried to shift away, but Esme wrapped her arms around her in a tight embrace. Bridget grabbed her hands.
“Let me go, guys.”
“Sorry, we can’t,” Bridget said. “I’m afraid we need you.”
“Need me for what?”
“Honey, we need you. You’re an alumna—”
“What?”
“Ever heard that expression ‘blood is thicker than water’? Audra’s one of us. You’re Audra’s daughter, and that makes you an alumna. Blood—it counts for a lot with Him.”
The others nodded.
“Your mother’s being punished. If you cooperate with us she’ll be well again. We all will. Be a good sport, Paula. We’re running out of time,” Bridget said.
“My mother’s one of—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Her head was spinning from the wine and the nonsense. It had to be nonsense.
“She is,” Esme said. “She’s. A. Witch.”
“My mother is not a witch!” The sentence sounded crazy coming out of her mouth.
“We need that little girl.” Ursula waggled a finger in Paula’s face. “You could have saved us a lot of trouble if you’d just brought her with you. She was expected. Now we have to go through a whole rigmarole to find her.”
“Marla? What’s going on?” Paula’s voice rose in panic.
“Paula, I’m … sorry,” her friend said. “My children are … in trouble. You knew me before. Before I was—”
“Stop fussing,” Bridget said firmly.
Glory moved in and grabbed Paula by the upper arm. “Another finger coming loose,” she said to no one in particular.
“Marla!” Paula was pleading now.
“Crackerjack,” Marla said, in a deep voice not her own. A man’s voice. The man from Blondie’s. Paula screamed.
“Remember? Crackerjack,” Marla said sadly, in the same voice. Then in her own voice, “Paula, you knew me before I was … evil.”
“All right, all right,” Esme said impatiently. “Stop making this like a crime movie where everyone explains everything in the final scene. I hate that. Let’s go.” She yanked on Paula and Paula stumbled after her.
“They do that on CSI too,” Joanna volunteered.
“We have to get moving.” Bridget was looking at her watch.
“Road trip!” Sharie shouted, clapping her hands together. “Paula, thank you so much! Auditions are next week—I’ll get my leg back!”
Paula dug her feet in and yelled, “Let me go!” She tried to pull her hands away from Bridget’s, who held fast.
Glory’s weirdly gloved hands wrapped tighter around Paula’s right arm, pulling it down. “Don’t!” she screamed. “My fingers are falling off!”
“Okay, wait. This is stupid. Somebody just do something to her.” Bridget said.
Paula tried to jam her elbow into Glory, but she was holding back, still unable to accept that this was happening. Her rational mind just couldn’t believe it.
The women looked at Marla. Esme said, “Do something. You’re the best at this.”
Marla shook her head. “I can’t.”
“You have to, Mar,” Esme said.
Marla shook her head again.
“You fucking crone, get on it!”
Paula couldn’t believe her ears. Crone? Rhymes with witch. She said it out loud. “You’re really witches?”
Esme grinned. “You’re catching on. Practically one of us. Here’s a tidbit for you. You know what I hate?” she said, getting in close to Paula’s face. “I hate when they add a ‘k’ to magic. New Age bullshit—I hate that.”
Paula laughed. “You really think you’re witches? That’s hysterical. C’mon, you guys, joke’s over. What is this, really?”
Esme ignored her. “Marla, come on. Now she’s insulting us.”
“What are you going to do, burn a candle and tell me my fortune? This is ridiculous. Let me go. I have to get my daughter.”
“We know where she is,” Joanna said with menace. “We really do. You had a barbecue there the other night.” Suddenly she sounded the way she did on TV. “We’ve been watching you. And we’ll be seeing her soon.” She turned to Bridget. “Someone has to text Izzy, tell her what’s going on. Who’s going to get the girl? I go fucking national in a week!”
Paula’s eyes grew round and the next laugh died in her chest. Her mother? Rowan? What did they want with Rowan? “This has gone far enough,” she said.
“You’re being selfish,” Glory hissed. “Think of your mother! Don’t you think she wants to go back to the way she was? This would do it—”
“Leave her out of this!” Paula yelled. “And stay away from Rowan! Marla …”
“Marla, come on, fix her up here,” Joanna said.
Marla slowly came towards Paula, who struggled futilely against the women holding her fast. The look of betrayal on her face stopped Marla in her tracks.
“My husband won’t stop working. My children—” she choked. “My children … Paula, maybe I’ll do this badly too,” she whispered. She put her hands on either side of Paula’s face and said, “I’m sorry, but my babies—”
“Marla, don’t.”
She held Paula’s face still and looked into her eyes, compelling Paula to look back. The heat from her hands was penetrating. Soothing.
soothing
“Paula, see me. Look at me.” Marla held her hand in front of Paula’s face, her fingers pointed downwards. She wriggled them, as supple as worms. Then she said, “You. Are. We
ak.”
Paula swooned, the energy draining from her muscles, her legs collapsing under her, her head lolling. The women stumbled under her weight.
“Ew, she’s a heavy one,” Bridget sneered.
crackerjack bitch
witch
crackerjack witches
before I was evil
Wind tunnelled through Paula’s head, spinning everything in it together. Far away someone said call Bella and get them on the kid.
Paula tried to scream, but what came out of her, exhausted and breathless, was “Rowan. Don’t. Not Ro—”
“Let’s get her to my car,” Esme said. “We’re running late.”
TWENTY
ROWAN HAD HEARD THE NASTY crack of bone, the thud of Mr. Keyes hitting the landing, the air whooshing out of him. Now it was quiet, and she hoped
(hoped)
that he wasn’t dead. Or unconscious.
“Mr. Keyes?”
No answer.
Rowan kept listening for Mr. Keyes as her embarrassment struggled with her need to help him. She took the toilet paper off the holder and rolled it around and around her hand and wrist, making it look as much like the pads on TV as possible. The wad she ended up with was too fat but it was long, and she thought that might be a good idea. She cleaned herself up as well as she could and then stuffed the makeshift pad between her legs and pulled her panties and jeans up over the whole thing. It felt strange and uncomfortable.
Sanderson heard Rowan call him, heard the water running, heard her call him again. As if from a great distance—he was entirely preoccupied with his ankle. He bit his lip and struggled to a sitting position, trying to keep his foot still. But it shifted, and the pain was a snakebite, a fire bomb. He rested his foot on the stair while he caught his breath. It was broken, he was sure of it. He leaned forward and eased his pant leg up. Even through his sock he could see the swelling.
Gusto wouldn’t stop fussing around him. “Gusto, sit.”
The beagle briefly dropped his ass to the floor, just to be obedient, then was back up and nudging Sanderson.
He heard Rowan calling, “Mr. Keyes? Are you okay?”
“I’m on the landing,” he managed, and suddenly she was there.
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