by Dana Taylor
"Neither am I."
Jason walked back in the room after seeing the doc out.
Christina rushed up to him. “You actually prefer this, this unkempt voodoo witchdoctor person over me, admit it!"
He leaned back into the doorframe, crossing his arms. “All right, I admit it."
She clenched her fists. “Fine, I'm leaving."
He merely stood there, nonchalantly gazing back at her.
"I'm really leaving,” she repeated, eyes bugging.
He pushed away from the door and moved in my direction, talking over his shoulder at her. “I'll call you a cab."
She stomped out and up the stairs.
He placed a hand on each side of the mantle, trapping me against the fireplace. “I hope you know what you're doing."
I leaned back and looked into his engaging eyes. Temptation so close. The smell of him so enticing. “Oh, I know how to handle Val, it's you I'm worried about."
"Me? I'm a very easy-going guy."
He leaned down to kiss me, but I ducked under his arms, surprising him. The previously easily overpowered Persephone was showing some resistance.
"I'd better go check on my patient."
He leaned one elbow against the mantle as he smiled at me. “It's good to have you here, Perse."
Aware again of his masculine magic, I steeled myself against the attraction. He could be an old, withered man and still cast the same spell on me. And who was the witch?
I nodded. “It's good to be here."
* * * *
I sat in Val's room, watching her sleep, listening to the final histrionics of Christina's departure. She certainly did have a future on the stage if she couldn't snag herself another rich husband, but I was betting on the husband angle. She still had the makings of a trophy wife, plus she had a sizable nest egg of her own. The great irony would be if she actually fell in love with a penniless gigolo. Time would tell.
Val slept peaceably. I changed the ingredients in the diffuser to oils with more medicinal value, then kneeled beside her bed. She lay on her side, hands tucked under her face, breathing deeply. Fever radiated from her body. That was okay. Her body was fighting the invading virus.
I placed my hands over her head and closed my eyes, visualizing a great white light opening from the heavens, beaming through my body, out my hands and into her being. A transference of healing energy. A familiar buzzy sensation began in the top of my brain similar to the initial feelings induced by a glass of wine on an empty stomach, a peaceful relaxation. Unlike inebriation however, this opening of spiritual power brought a heightening sense of awareness and a connection with the surrounding elements.
Right now my concentration was fully on Valerie's slumbering figure and I fell into the passive state of healing mediator as the force from above used me as a conduit for healing electricity. My hands warmed, vibrating with unseen wattage, traveling over her body, guided by unknown forces. My throat constricted and I could see her inflamed tonsils in my mind's eye, infected and pulsating with pain. Power increased in my hands and I envisioned her neck bathed in a white light that brought down the inflammation and washed away the infection.
Next, an image of her blood came to mind. A war raged in her blood stream, causing the external discomfort and fatigue she felt. Once again the power increased and I moved my hands over the length of her body, releasing healing forces to overcome the attacking virus. As our energy fields mingled, Val and I united, joined together by a supernatural bond. An overwhelming feeling of love enveloped me. Her pain and illness diminished under the power of healing love.
Moments like these brought the stark reality that parts of the witch accusations were true. My abilities as a healer went beyond knowledge of herbs, oils, remedies, and traditions. When I allowed myself to open to unseen forces, something supernatural came into play. I liked to think it was the healing power of Christ, but I really didn't know. I just knew that sometimes I tapped into something beyond myself, beyond earthly constraints of time and logic.
This, of course, was why the rumors persisted, perpetuated by the clients who benefited from the healing energy. I told them it was merely the result of therapeutic massage, but they knew it was more. An outside spiritual force had touched them.
Once in a while I worked with someone carrying a lot of negative memories. Sometimes our healing sessions revealed deep-seated emotional scars at the root of a physical problem. My ability to “know” certain private matters proved often startling. The witch stories arose from those spiritually-charged moments.
Maybe I was a witch of sorts, but I rebelled at the old crone image, stirring eye of newt into a boiling cauldron, consorting with the devil. Perhaps witches throughout the centuries had just gotten a bad rap, maligned by the ignorant masses. I didn't know. I just knew that sometimes I was used to bring about a healing that goes beyond any kind of conventional wisdom.
Val stirred, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes. I smiled at her.
"How you doin'?"
"Thirsty,” she rasped.
I poured a drink of water and watched her struggle to a sitting position. She gulped the liquid too fast and I pulled the glass away from her.
"Hold on. You need to take it easy,” I said, brushing wisps of hair from her face. The glow of love from our healing session still pulsed through me.
Her softened smile reflected her unconscious response to our prayer time. “I think I'm better ... My mom is gone, isn't she?"
I nodded. “I'm sorry, sweetheart."
She stared off, too tired to deal with another desertion. “At least you're here. You won't leave, will you?"
I didn't say anything, just smiled.
Leaving was getting harder and harder.
* * * *
I spent the morning in Val's room, helping the time pass, massaging her feet, and encouraging her to get down some liquids. She caught me up on all the details of her life-the important social pecking order at her school and the next cool thing she was going to do with her hair. Jason brought me a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea. By noon she was ready for another long nap, so I left her in peace.
As I walked down the stairs, I heard the TV going in Ruth's room, while Jason had classical music playing downstairs. I peeked in the empty living room. The beautiful sight of big flakes of snow falling outside the picture windows drew me to the glass. The Brooks’ stupendous Christmas tree stood in front of the window, surrounded by a multitude of presents, still untouched. The tree was stylishly decorated in gold and purple, with wide shiny ribbon wrapped artfully around the branches, something a designer would put in a store window.
My fingers lightly tapped an exquisite glass ball. How different from my homespun tree covered with scruffy, multicolored ornaments representing a lifetime of memories.
My eyes drank in the full view of falling snow, so rare in Oklahoma. Generally our snows were small icy particles that sting hitting your skin in a drifting wind, covering the ground with a crunchy slush. Today's snow was a gift that would blanket the ground and be the stuff of snowmen and snowball fights. I wrapped my arms around myself, emitting a huge sigh of appreciation to the weather god.
Then I felt another pair of arms slip around me and kiss my neck. No fair, no fair. He'd caught me when my defenses were down. Instant meltdown.
"God, how I've missed that smell,” Jason said, sniffing my neck and hair.
Resist, you fool, came a faint warning. Instead, I leaned back into him, relishing his warmth. “It must be overpowering today. I drench Val in oils today."
He hugged me tighter. “You smell great. Merry Christmas."
I turned in his arms, my hands resting on his chest. “Merry Christmas. It's turning into a white Christmas.” We were trapped looking into each other's eyes, paying no attention at all to the snow.
"I'll have to buy a snow shovel.” His voice purred low and intimate, the steel gone from his gray eyes, replaced by tenderness, tearing down my defenses.
&
nbsp; "You can borrow mine ... It's behind the lawn mower in the garage.” My voice wavered, as his hands began softly kneading my back, causing our bodies to sway.
His lips brushed mine, back and forth. “That's very neighborly of you."
My arms slipped around his waist, my braless breasts puckered and tingled as our embrace became more intimate. “I should go and feed Orion."
His hand moved under the fleece of my shirt and engulfed a breast, gently, rhythmically tugging a sensitive tip. I moaned, dropping my head back, arching into his hand. He accepted the invitation to feather arousing kisses on my neck, whispering between touches. “If you say so."
Bending backwards, getting weak in the knees, I nearly collapsed in front of the Christmas tree when the sweet voice of Ruth drifted into the room as she descended the stairs. “Oh, Jason, what are we going to do about lunch? I'm hungry."
He growled and loosened his hold on me. I regained composure and leaned my forehead onto his chest, sighing. My resolve had melted as surely as the snowflakes on the hot landscape lights.
"We were planning on going out for a big Christmas brunch, but that's not going to work,” he said to me.
Ruth entered the room. “Jason? I'm starving."
I broke away from him and escaped in the direction of the kitchen. “Come on, let's see what Mrs. Wilson left behind."
We whipped up sandwiches, orange slices, chips, and hot tea. Then I surveyed the fridge and pantry and found the fixings for a good chicken soup. It became a group project. Jason turned on the all-Christmas carol station and we spent the next hour preparing the meal. Ruth and Jason handled chopping vegetables, as I worked on some homemade dumplings, sprinkling flour on his shiny black cabinet tops. The room filled with a homey aroma as the spicy chicken sautéed and I dropped dumplings into their boiling stock.
Ruth sliced carrots and told me the plots of two Christmas movies while Jason and I managed to “accidentally” bump into each other on several occasions. At one point he blatantly caressed my backside and innocently said, “Oh, pardon me.” I tried to deliver a stern look, but utterly failed. It was basically an hour of cooking foreplay.
The soup was simmering, the cutting boards, knives, and pots drying when Val appeared in the doorway, looking drowsy and a bit dirty.
"Can I have a drink?"
Jason crossed to her and put his arm around her. “Hey, there, you must be feeling a little better."
She leaned into him. “A little."
I handed her a glass of lemon water. “How about a shower? Then maybe you'll feel up to eating a little something."
"Yes, dear,” Ruth said, “we've just made a wonderful chicken soup. Then we can have a Christmas celebration after all. Santa brought you a lot of presents."
Still a little unsteady on her feet, she held on to her dad for support. “Okay,” she said, handing me back the glass. Jason lifted her into his arms.
Bittersweet memories of those strong, protective arms stirred me. Shake it off.
Val slipped her hands around his neck. “You don't have to carry me. I can walk.” But she snuggled closer.
I followed them upstairs and helped her get cleaned up and into fresh clothes. Jason changed the sheets on her bed while we were occupied in the bathroom. She had more energy after the shower and headed downstairs.
Jason and I stood side by side at the top of the stairs, watching her dark-headed, small figure descend and enter the living room. She was somewhere between child and teenager, angel and brat.
I glanced up at him, catching a look of dilemma in his eyes. His hand went to the back of my neck, rubbing, kneading. He heaved a big sigh.
"What?” I asked.
"Oh, nothing. Everything.” He dropped his hand and trudged down the stairs.
"I'll bring her a pillow and blanket and make her a nest on the sofa,” I said.
He turned and looked at me intently. “You are a nester, aren't you?"
I shrugged. “'Fraid so."
He sighed heavily again, turned, and plodded into the living room. Whatever was going through his mind, he wasn't happy about it.
* * * *
With a fire blazing in the fireplace, the family opened a few presents and then watched “A Christmas Story,” that irreverent, darling movie about the boy who wants a BB gun for Christmas. Val had never seen it and enjoyed it.
Ruth had an interesting habit of talking to the movie characters. “Oh, you shouldn't do that ... I wouldn't trust him.” She really got into it.
I suggested we eat our chicken soup on trays and stay in the cozy room. The three of them froze. Jason gave me a measured look ready to veto the suggestion. Obviously, this was a revolutionary idea to him. His living room was not the dining room. Crumbs might collect under the cushions of his two-thousand dollar couch. I was upsetting his applecart.
"Never mind,” I said. “We can eat in the kitchen."
"No, no,” he acquiesced. “It's fine. Val will be more comfortable."
Val and Ruth exchanged amazed looks.
We ate the soup and crackers, enjoying the wide screen TV. I picked up all the dirty dishes and did KP while they finished watching the movie. When I returned to the living room, the picture had ended; Val was yawning and looking piqued again. I felt her forehead, sensing the rise in temperature.
"You need to get to bed.” Noticing dusk settling in I said, “And I should go home. Orion is probably yowling for his dinner and I'm overstaying my welcome."
Val grabbed my hand. “Can't you spend the night? I still feel bad and you help me feel better. What if I get a lot worse like I did last night?"
I kneeled down. “I don't think that's going to happen."
Her feverish eyes pleaded with me to stay. I tried to break away, I really did.
Jason broke a short silence. “We could go to your house, pick up a few things, feed the cat, and you can sleep in the guest room."
Val tugged my hand. “Please?"
Trapped by my mushy heart. “Okay, sure, why not?"
Ruth stood up clapping. “Oh, goody!"
I had presents for them anyway. I secretly harbored anticipated pleasure at Jason's dismay when he glimpsed the ugly, wood nymph crystal lamp I was passing on to Ruth.
* * * *
Jason insisted on driving me to my house in his Expedition rather than my slip-and-slide Lizzie. The snow was piling up on the roads, making for dangerous conditions. His grim, set jaw may have simply reflected his concentration driving on the icy road. But, I doubted it. Somewhere during the course of the afternoon, a gloomy cloud had settled over his head.
We entered my dark, cold house, stomping the snow off our shoes on the welcome mat. I flipped the lights on. Orion immediately greeted us with a yowl, winding around my legs, complaining for food. I picked him up and gave him some love.
"Come on, Mr. O, I know you're starving."
I headed through the living room into the kitchen. It took a while for Jason to follow me in.
"What's with all the boxes stacked in the living room?” he asked.
I emptied the cat food into the bowl. “Those are for the Goodwill. I've been trying to get organized for my move. I've collected a lot of junk in the six years I've been back."
He scowled. “You're really leaving."
Briskly closing a drawer I replied, “Yup."
He turned around and returned to the living room, leaving me to wipe down my counters and contemplate his mood.
What did he want from me? I knew what. He wanted me at his beck and call, but with no demands. No changes. No crumbs in his living room. No knick-knacks. No bending of will or blending of lifestyles.
Face it, Perse. The man does not love you.
Well, to hell with him. If it weren't for Val, I'd have told him to kiss off. Farewell ... it was just one of those things ... sayonara, etc.
I passed him in the living room to go to my room and pack an overnight bag. He'd turned on the lights of my Christmas tree. It blazed in mul
ti-colors and leaned a little bit to the right. He examined the ornaments, plucking one off I'd made with my first grade class picture. A toothless Perse smiled in the center of a tattered construction paper star. Most of the glitter had flaked off.
"You've always had that crooked smile."
"Thanks for reminding me."
He moved about the room, examining the myriad of decorations in every available nook-angels, nutcrackers, three nativity sets, garland, and a gingerbread house. “Ever heard of the phrase ‘less is more?’”
I crossed my arms. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me, is that it? You've been snarling all afternoon. You asked me to help you, remember? So, fool that I am, I came running. I've taken care of your sick daughter; I've fed your hungry mother. I tried to bring a sense of cheerfulness into that sterile museum you call a home and all I get from you is muttering and irritated looks. What is your problem?"
He turned around and blazed at me with those intense eyes. “You want to know what my problem is, all right! It's you. You're chaotic and messy. Look at that tree. It's a sagging sentimental mish-mash. You charge in and take over with your new age ideas and leave homey clutter in your wake.” He wagged a finger. “I noticed the fruit bowl you left in the middle of my kitchen table. You challenge my decisions and make me feel like a stuffed shirt."
"You are a stuffed shirt,” I said quietly.
"I never know what you're going to do or say next. You're stubborn, too. When I'm with you I feel ... I feel ... needy. I've never needed anyone before. I've never wanted anyone like I want you.” He walked to me in his deliberate fashion and grasped my arms. “I don't like it. When you're with me you fill in gaps I didn't even know were there. Today you made my house come alive and now it will feel empty if you're not there. You pulled all of us together into a real family. Mother wasn't complaining, Val wasn't angry. I wasn't lonely."
"So what's the problem?” I whispered.
"The problem is I know you're going to change everything in my life. It will be busier and brighter and spinning out of control. And I don't have any choice, because I love you and want you and need you and you're not going anywhere except home with me."